


overflow

by Trilies



Category: Dishonored (Video Game), Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Abandonment, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Crossover, Dissociation, Gen, Harm to Children, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Survival, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 62,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7471206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trilies/pseuds/Trilies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chikusa and Ken's lives are simple. He is the son of a noble, expected to inherit. He is the son of servants, expected to obey. Despite this, they are still friends beyond their stations, and they dream of things beyond as well. </p><p>But that was before the water.</p><p>That was before they met Mukuro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. between the two of us

"I," Chikusa announces imperiously, "am an _Adult_."   
  
Just like that, Ken closes his mouth and squints at the other boy suspiciously with all of their prior argument immediately forgotten. In the cozy light filtering into the estate, he inspects the young noble carefully. Nope, Chikusa doesn't _look_ too different from how he usually looks, which is to say that he looks pale and scrawny and utterly Kakipii. There's the really annoyingly delicate but expensive clothes still don't seem like they fit right no matter how many times the tailor visits him. (Personally, Ken finds it funny to see the adults get quietly worked up about it.) And glasses? Yep, still there and pinching his nose. Still that dumb haircut too.  
  
His mouth scrunches up in aggravation. "Is this because you're _taller_?"  
  
Watching Chikusa puff up helps ease the edge off of Ken's annoyance, if only because it's _hilarious_. There's nothing of Chikusa to actually puff up. He's made of chicken bones and skin. "It's not because I'm taller!" he snaps. "I read _adult_ books."  
  
Oh. _Books_. Ken makes a face. "Big words doesn't make you older."   
  
"It's not the words. It's..." A pause as he seems to think over his sentence. "...the _subject_."  
  
"Show me," Ken challenges immediately, and relishes the way Chikusa blinks wide eyed at him. Ha! All too soon, however, he screws up his mouth stubbornly and sets off for the door. Ken follows after him, readily ditching the bucket of water and rag he'd been using to clean up the little playroom of the third floor. He _hates_ cleaning. It's boring and just the same thing over and over again. He'd rather be doing errands out of house, but he guesses then he wouldn't get to bug Chikusa.  
  
Over well polished floors and rugs that cost more than a year's worth of groceries, Chikusa leads him into the solemn silence of the library. No one interrupts them in the halls on the way there. For one thing, Chikusa's parents are who knows where at any given time- Ken's own tell him it's very important work and socializing. He half wonders if they even remember they have a son. For another thing, the rest of Ken's family is busy buzzing around on the lower levels. There's a dinner, or something. He wasn't really paying attention.  
  
The bright side is that Chikusa probably _was_ , and he doesn't seem concerned about being caught or whatever. Instead, he's carefully inspecting the rows of books with his brow all scrunched up over the rim of his glasses. Before Ken can get too bored and start to fidget, the other boy moves forward. He watches in keen interest as Chikusa carefully starts to clamber up the bookshelves in his fancy dumb shoes and in a way he can recognize as practiced. There's a book squished in on the very end on the very top shelf- that's what he retrieves, carrying it with a grip Ken didn't know he was capable of as he comes back down. That's the thing about Chikusa. He prefers to do boring things, a lot of which involve sitting down, but when you push him, then things get  _fun_. With the same kind of care he'd used to climb the bookshelf, Chikusa sits down with his knees folded beneath him. In half that time, Ken sprawls out on his stomach and looks to him curiously.   
  
Clearing his throat, Chikusa speaks. "It's called," he says in his I-know-more-than-you voice, "The Young Prince of Tyvia." He pauses and squints at him. "...It's supposed to be performed by people on a stage."  
  
"Are you gonna do voices then?"  
  
"No."   
  
"Booooooring!" Ken boos, but Chikusa ignores him as he opens the book. Sulking, Ken rests his chin across his crossed arms to listen.  
  
"The scene opens in the foyer of the Bayle manor, servants waiting to the side. The Bayle family, including its patriarch Lord Nathan Bayle, are speaking in hushed tones before they all straighten up as the door is opened for Prince Kallisar of Tyvia who is garbed in luxurious furs..."  
  
It _sounds_ like it's going to be boring nonsense, at first. However, instead of being a boring political thing like Ken initially thinks it will be, this Kallisar guy ends up catching his attention. That alone is kind of impressive, considering Chikusa reads aloud with all the emotion of a dead rat. But then the story starts getting _interesting_.   
  
"Prince Kallisarr, smiling coyly, reaching out... No need for anger between us, Lord Bayle. Is it so wrong for me to be here? As I've proven, I've developed an affinity for you and your family." Chikusa is starting to read a bit slower now, ears starting to flush pink, but Ken isn't really paying attention. He's just listening, perked up from his spot on the floor. "Lord Nathan Bayle... gasping... Oh, my, Kallisarr... your skin is so warm, it burns." A hard swallow. "Prince Kallisar, hand drifting- drifting-" And just like that, he snaps the book shut with his face practically blazing. Ken pushes himself up, scowling.   
  
"You were getting to the good part!"  
  
"You don't even know if it's the good part!"   
  
"I could _tell_. It was getting good!"   
  
"W-Well I'm done reading!" Chikusa scrambles up to his feet faster than Ken expects, and he nearly trips over myself in an effort to keep up. "So I'm going to put it back!"  
  
"No! Give it to me and I'll finish it!"   
  
"I'm not going to give it to you!"   
  
"Why not-!" Except even as he's in the middle of demanding an answer, Ken pounces with all the force in his six year old body. Chikusa is skinny and always seems to be tripping over his own big dumb feet- when he goes down he goes _down_ , and Ken laughs so hard in his triumph that he drowns out Chikusa's offended squawk.   
  
Which means he's left perfectly wide open for a smack to the side of his head.   
  
Together, they go rolling across the library floor, book left off to the side and soundly forgotten in the heat of the moment and adrenaline pumping through their veins. Ken always forgets how stubborn Chikusa can be when he's in a mood, but that just adds to the _fun_. He growls and kicks and laughs, all which only make Chikusa scowl at him from behind skewed glasses. When he gets rolled onto his back once more, he screws up his nose and sticks his tongue out-   
  
Chikusa smacks his hand straight over his mouth.   
  
Ken is about to slobber all over it, but he finally takes in Chikusa's wide eyes and, somewhere in the house nearby... footsteps. Both boys freeze, chests heaving. Together they listen carefully to the heavy footfalls that go throughout the hall directly outside. Ken can hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears, and Chikusa's too, practically. They lay there on the floor, tangled up in one another and listening carefully. When the footsteps finally fade off, stomping down the stairs at the end of the hall, Chikusa slumps in relief.   
  
Licking Chikusa's hand to get it away from his mouth, Ken grins widely at the offended look on his face. "We didn't get caught!"   
  
"We _almost_ did," Chikusa says sourly, pushing himself up to his knees and then his feet.   
  
"But we didn't."   
  
His cheeks puff up, and Ken laughs at him again. He's in such a good mood, he doesn't even care when Chikusa goes to put the book away again. It's fine. He knows where it is now, and he bets he can climb those shelves even better than Kakipii. As Chikusa comes down, however, he glances over at him and sighs. "You hurt your face."  
  
Huh? Ken reaches up to lightly touch his face a few times before finding somewhere on his cheek that stings a bit when he prods at it. "Oh, huh."   
  
He's about to lick his _own_ hand, because there's nothing a little spit can't fix, but Chikusa grabs his arm before he can do that and starts to tug him along. "Come on."   
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"I'm going to fix it."   
  
The room Chikusa leads him into isn't far off. In fact, it's the next room over, some sort of study that Ken's explicitly been forbidden from entering. Chikusa enters like it's nothing, however, so Ken follows right after him. Hey- the family's son is doing it, so it's fine for him too, right? "How are you gonna fix it?" he asks as he goes to sit in a chair Chikusa indicates, swinging his feet.  
  
"There's something that makes sure gross things don't get into your skin, and makes it heal faster," Chikusa says, standing on a chair to reach a bottle on a shelf. "It _accelerates the healing process_."   
  
Ken sticks out his tongue again. "You don't have to use big words to explain stuff!"   
  
"It's good for you to learn big words."   
  
"That sounds dumb."   
  
"Well, you're dumb." Before Ken can protest that, Chikusa sticks _his_ tongue out at him, and laughter bubbles out of his throat. It keeps him content long enough for Chikusa to dab some of it onto a rag and lean down in front of him. When it's pressed against his cheek, Ken hisses.   
  
"Ow! You said it was supposed to make me feel better!"  
  
"I said I was going to make it _heal_ ," Chikusa huffs. "That doesn't mean it'll feel good. Like how eating cucumbers are important for your body but they don't taste good."  
  
"I like cucumbers. _You're_ the one who hates them."  
  
"That's not the point and you know it." He scowls at him before carefully tearing off a piece of bandage. Ken waits as he applies some sort of salve to the edges, perking up when Chikusa speaks again. "You know, when I'm old enough, I'm going to go to that College. The one of Natural Philosophy." He says the words carefully, not wanting to mess them up.   
  
"Aren't smart people only allowed in there?"  
  
"Yeah."   
  
"You're only smart half of the time, so it might be hard!" Ken snickers, only for it to backfire in his face as Chikusa smacks the bandage onto the scrape on his face. As he sulks, Ken inspects Chikusa's huffy face. Something occurs to him. "Other people aren't allowed to go in there, right?"  
  
"No." He gives the answer while putting everything away carefully, almost as if they were never touched at all. "It's just the professors and the students."  
  
"Huh." Ken swings his feet recklessly, frowning. "Then we won't get to see each other."   
  
Chikusa pauses, fingers still barely touching the bottle he's only now put back. "We'll get to see each other."  
  
"How?"  
  
"I'll figure out a way." Chikusa shuffles down from the desk. "Even smart colleges need people who can cook, or, uh, clean up exploded bodies."  
  
"I wanna see an exploded body..."  
  
"And if I can't do that," he continues stubbornly, "then I'll do something like... get an apartment outside and go to the College to study. I bet you can do that. And we'll get to see each other all the time when I'm not learning, and I'll take care of you."  
  
"I don't need taking care of!"   
  
"You get into fights all the time!" Crossing his arm, Chikusa glowers. "And when you get hurt, I'll be there to fix you so that you're alright again."  
  
Ken guesses it doesn't sound _too_ bad. It'll be nice, to have Chikusa always there for _him_. A grin spreads across his face. "And you don't know how to cook, so I'll take care of you, too. I bet none of those eggheads know how to really cook."  
  
His clearly selfless devotion is greeted by Chikusa making a face. "You don't know how to cook either! I overheard one of the cooks talking about how you almost set a stove on fire."   
  
"Shut up!" Before their argument can continue, both of them freeze as they look towards the door. When there's no actual sound, just their imaginations, both boys quickly finish and sneak out of the study. It's only when they're back in the boring little room that Chikusa likes to hang out at, where the sun fills out the perfect spots for naps, does Ken speak up again. "Doesn't your pop want you to take over the company and everything when you're old enough?"  
  
Chikusa is quiet for a couple of seconds as he curls up on the window seat, knees up against his chest. Ken can't really describe it, but he looks a little more _there_ with the sun drawing color out from his skin and his eyes catching the light. He looks more real, instead of just a ghost haunting his own house or the area around his family. "Yeah, I guess he does," he says after a moment as Ken clambers onto the seat with him despite how many times he's been told he's not supposed to.   
  
"Can you run a business when you're busy being really smart at that school?"  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
That's probably going to raise all sorts of yelling when Chikusa ever tells his father- because Ken knows he _absolutely_ hasn't yet- but Chikusa is curled in on himself and staring straight out the window down to the pavement below. Bluntly, Ken moves forward to shove himself between Chikusa's legs and ignores his strangled squeak as he drapes over his torso with a grin. "Exploded bodies are way more neat than doing boring junk like paperwork and stuff!"  
  
Only on the seat precariously now, Chikusa still smiles in his weird awkward kind of way. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "They're way neater."  
  
He knows that he should get back to cleaning, or else his parents will get disappointed and other staff will scold him, but Ken doesn't want to move. Even though he's all bone, it feels comfortable to lay on Chikusa like this. The sun is hitting them _just_ right, too. Comfortable and warm, he lets himself drift as Chikusa turns his attention back outside towards the dam keeping Rudshore dry.


	2. my love, don't forget me

Chikusa awakes to the rolling rumble of thunder.   
  
Blearily, his eyes flutter open and he pushes himself up. The room is a lot more dark than he remembers it being when he first curled up in the enormous plush armchair upstairs. Back then, late morning light had filled it with a heavy but warm glow. It had been so easy to drift off to sleep in the library that way, the book he'd been reading too dull for even him to stay awake through. Leaning down the chair, he grabs the book in question up off the floor and goes to put it back. That's the key to him having so much freedom in what he gets to read and where he gets to go- everything goes back in its place. His parents are never the wiser.   
  
Then again, sometimes he wonders if they'd even blame him. They don't pay him much mind, but Chikusa doesn't think they'd think he'd misbehave, either. More than likely, he knows they'd blame one of the servants. They might even blame _Ken_ , even though Ken gets too fidgety if he's forced to stay inside too long and doesn't have the patience for books. The thought alone makes Chikusa frown as the book slides into place with a thunk.   
  
He likes Ken. He's really gross and loud and doesn't know how to sit still, but he's fun, too. A bubble of warmth kicks up in Chikusa's chest whenever he's able to find something that interests Ken as much as it does him. There's not a lot of other kids his age that Chikusa gets along with, so... He'll have to make sure that Ken stays with him and his family forever.   
  
The thoughts drift away from him as he wanders over to the library window, still rubbing at his eyes. Not only is there the flash of lightning, but the rain is coming down hard. Books he's read have described storms as _pounding_ or _vicious_. Now, as he leans close to the glass, he thinks he understands what they all meant. It's an onslaught, and he can barely make out anything beyond the window. Is it the rain against the glass that makes the streets below seem so full? Uncertainty rolls in his stomach in time with the thunder, and Chikusa steps away as he realizes something.   
  
He hasn't heard _anyone_ past the sound of the storm.   
  
Trying to muffle the flicker of panic in his chest, Chikusa hurries over into the hall and goes still as he listens with everything he can. No one is ever  _really_ quiet. Sure, his parents are, by virtue of absence, but the servants? Never. It's something he's noticed when he's been left to his own. Either they're bustling around the house cleaning it, or they're tucked away in little corners of the house gossiping when they think no one else is around. Chikusa has learned a lot listening to them.   
  
But as he pokes his head out into the hall, he can't hear anything. There's no footsteps, or cleaning tools clattering together, or tapping fingers against wood. When he ventures down the stairs to the lower floors, not a single one carries the quiet whispers of gossip.  
  
Wracked with indecision, Chikusa rocks on his heels for a moment at the very bottom step of his home. Every bit of his personality shies at the idea of drawing attention to himself. At the same time, never before has he realized how _empty_ his world could be. Desperation makes the realization stick out all the sharper until he finally gives in. "Hello!" His voice shakes as it leaves his throat and echoes through the empty halls. "Is anyone here?" No answer. The distress in his voice gets sharper. "Anyone? Please? Ken!"   
  
Silence.   
  
Outside, the thunder crashes once more, and it rolls into his very nerves. His hands won't stop shaking as he quickly sets to exploring every single room he possibly can. Emptiness and silence greet him every single time while, outside, the rain only slams against the building harder. Curling up by the front door, Chikusa digs his fingers into his pants and bites his lip. Best he can, he tries to tell himself that everything will be alright. It doesn't make  _sense_ for him to just be abandoned here by _everyone_. Right?  
  
Chikusa comforts himself with that thought over and over again, his only sanctuary against the storm. It helps that outside, he thinks he can hear the sound of activity: carts and hurrying boots and indistinct shouts. Past all the rain, he can't make out the words. It comforts him regardless, helps bring him down from panicking. However, he's only been there for a few minutes when...   
  
There's no describing the sound, not with so much background noise. In fact, it's not even a sound- it's a _feeling_ , a sensation that thrums through his ear down into his chest. Outside, the yells have become louder, and Chikusa scrambles to his feet. Standing on the tips of his toes and fumbling with the locks on the door takes what feels like ages, and when he finally opens the doors, the force of the wind slams it open. Chikusa falls back with a frightened shout that gets swallowed up in the gale, rain sweeping inside and stinging his skin. Fear pushes him upward and forward, and he steps outside the door. Immediately, his glasses are drenched and useless, but in that split second before that, looking up the street....   
  
There's something wrong with the dam.   
  
Past the rain, past his glasses, there's only dull color all blurred together, but the sense of _wrongness_ and a distant roar strikes terror straight into a heart like a plunging knife. Across the street, he thinks he saw a glimpse of someone, of a cart-   
  
Chikusa jerks back inside his house instead, grabbing the door and digging his feet into the floor to help him force it closed. By this point, the already smooth wood floor is even slicker with rainfall. More than a few times, his feet slip and his cheek smashes into the door, but he quickly rights himself each time. When the door finally clicks into place, his chest is heaving. Somehow, despite the adrenaline flooding his system, he manages to get the lock slid into place first try.  
  
The rising roar drowns out any regrets. From the corner of his eye, he can see something gray and oppressive barrel down the street, _consuming_ it. He feels how it smashes into the building from the bottom of his feet only a second before water, bursting from beneath and around the cracks of the door and windows, sweeps onto the floor. The pure force of it knocks him down his feet a second time, and the water is so _cold_. It stings his palms as he tries to catch himself, the splash barely a note amidst the wailing of rushing water- and the crack of wood splintering apart.   
  
He doesn't think. He _can't_ think. Base instinct is in control of his hands and feet as he tries to scramble upright. Each time, tumultuous waters snatch away his balance. Past toes, ankles, knees, it keeps getting _higher_ like it's chasing how his heart has leapt from his chest to his throat. Panic and water blur his vision, and it's pure luck when his fingers wrap around the stair railings.   
  
Beneath him, his legs are useless weights being used as playthings for the sea. It's his hands, soft from a soft life and slick from treacherous rain, that drag him forward. Water at his waist, now. He hooks his elbow around a column, ignores the pain as it digs into his arm, and reaches for the next. So damn cold, his feet have gone nearly numb, but somewhere beneath him, Chikusa feels himself smash his toe into the steps. He doesn't need much, just a push is enough, and he flails for the next bit of railing. He stumbles up a little more, but the water is _so fast_ , it's up to his chest, he can't see anything, and he can feel his hands slipping, his eyes stinging-   
  
The water is rising and he's going to drown.   
  
The knowledge rushes into his mind in time with the water rushing into his mouth as he slips, sinking into the pull of the storm. He's going to drown, going to die, all alone in an empty house. It bears down on him worse than the heaviness of his clothes, twice their weight and dragging through the water. He tries to open his mouth, desperate for air, but it only welcomes in the rain water, and this is it. This is _it_.   
  
He wanted to do so much, wanted to go to that college, wanted to play and see Ken all the time, but _this is it_ , he's going to die and no one will care. Even as he's trying to push himself up and pull up further by the railing, he's fighting against more than just the water now. Despair shoves at his shoulders. It's half a miracle he resurfaces with a cough, half blind  
  
and someone grabs him.   
  
What looks like sunshine and moss past his tears hauls him up what's left of the dry stairs. Chikusa trips over himself as he ascends the steps, hacking out water and wheezing in air desperately. _So this is what the stories mean._ It's a thought that passes through his mind like a wisp, and he lets himself be pulled up to the second floor. As much as he wants to collapse, his body knows what safety is better than him. Automatically, it pushes him forward, pushes him higher, until finally he trips and falls on the third floor landing. Every exhale, every hack, is an expulsion of water. Tears and snot pour down his wet face. Chikusa barely notices any of it.  
  
Only when his lungs are burning but empty does he finally wipe at his face. His glasses are next to useless, now, but he doesn't need them to recognize the person leaning over the steps downwards and whistling. Chikusa's voice comes out strangled and hoarse. "Ken?"  
  
Ken twists around. Even with blurry vision, Chikusa can see the way he bares his teeth in a wide grin that takes up most of his face. It doesn't match up with the tension thrumming in his body that's just as obvious. "Kakipii! I thought you were gonna throw up the _whole ocean_."  
  
For as long as it's existed, Chikusa has hated that nickname. Right now, he couldn't care less. He gets up on unsteady feet and stumbles to the other boy. Ken's expression immediately falls apart, all clumsy concern, and he steps forward to meet Chikusa halfway. "You came back," Chikusa croaks, tears welling up in his eyes again. "No one- I thought I was alone."   
  
"Stupid Kakipii." Beneath Chikusa fingers curling tight into his shirt, he can feel how he's become tense and awkward. "Told you I was gonna take care of you too." His head twists to look back down the stairs. "I think the water is still coming... C'mon." He starts to move on, and Chikusa follows close behind. He doesn't let go of him. Ken doesn't pull away. Together, with the storm still raging, they go to the third floor. Ken is fidgeting, Chikusa can feel him, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared too. He can still feel the water biting into him...   
  
"...Is this enough, do you think?"   
  
They're in front of his room, and Ken practically growls. "We can't go higher, stupid!"  
  
Chikusa doesn't answer that. Silently, he tugs Ken along to his parents' bedroom. Even with rain beating on the windows and everything seeming grayer, it's just as majestic as ever. For a brief second, he feels an old urge to tiptoe and be silent, just in case. It doesn't last long; fear and chill swallow it up. Besides him, Ken is shuffling and grumbling about why they have to be in this stuffy old room instead of his, but Chikusa ignores it. Hidden among the curtains is a rope to pull, and Ken starts when a tug of it is enough to make a panel in the ceiling drop and a ladder inelegantly clatters down to the floor.   
  
"I didn't know there was a secret ceiling thing!"  
  
Even shaking- all fear, adrenaline, cold- Chikusa grins. "That's because it's secret."  
  
Ken goes up first, clambering quick and agile in a way Chikusa can only dream of. Following after him is hard. His hands still won't stop shaking, his grip is weak, and his skin still damp. More than once, Chikusa nearly slips from his place and only manages to save himself by hastily hooking his elbow around a rung. When he's high enough, Ken reaches down and hauls him up into the darkness.   
  
No windows are up in the attic. For a moment, Chikusa can only kneel there with no light and staring into shadows. Around him, the sound of rain consumes everything. He's only dimly able to see Ken's silhouette and listen to the shuffle of his feet as he ventures deeper into the attic. "There's so much _junk_ up here!" he calls back.   
  
"Expensive junk!" Chikusa yells to him, getting up to his feet only to fall again when they prove to be too wobbly. At least his eyes are getting better, and shaking off some of the water from his glasses even lets him see a bit of detail, almost. Ken's figure stops by something propped up against a small mountain of crates. Squinting, Chikusa watches as he tugs it down and it falls hard enough against the ground to make Chikusa shake. "Ken!"   
  
"I think it's a rug!" he calls to him, ignoring the alarm in Chikusa's voice. "C'mon, Kakipii!"   
  
"H-Hold on-" He turns around, fumbling to pull the ladder back up. In his minds eye, he can imagine the water rising higher and higher and higher, bubbling up into the attic... It's only when the ladder is folded up again and the panel is back in place, bringing the attic into complete blackness, does he feel a little better. His feet are even steady enough for him to stand up, and he blindly gropes his way along. "Ken?"  
  
"Over here, c'mon!"   
  
Chikusa follows his voice, shuffling and bumping into crates and support beams until his feet find the edges of an unfurled rug. "Ken?" A hand reaches up into his wet clothes and tugs him down.   
  
"Yeah, I'm right here."   
  
Carefully, Chikusa kneels down. "...I'm cold."   
  
Not too far away, Ken grunts and Chikusa can hear him roll over. "Yeah, me too. It sucks." There's a patter from impatient hands against the rug. "We should take our clothes off so we're not as cold."  
  
"...Really?"  
  
"Yeah! I mean, I can't see you anyway." A pause, and Chikusa scowls at the sound of a raspberry. "And it's not like you don't have stuff that I don't have!"   
  
"Shut up." Still, it does feel good when he tugs off his waistcoat. The stagnant air of the attic rushes a chill through him, but the goosebumps were already there anyway from the water clinging to his shirt. It's not that bad. Definitely not any worse. He dumps his wet clothes to the side, just in his underwear, and curls up with the rug beneath him. Nearby, there's the slap of clothing hitting wood and he sighs. "You shouldn't throw things."  
  
"No one cares." A rustle, and Chikusa thinks Ken is laying on the rug in much the same way he is. "Except you, dummy."  
  
Maybe he's right, but Chikusa won't admit it. He just fidgets against the rug, glasses digging into the side of his face. It'd be better to take them off, but he's scared- to lose them in the darkness, to not be able to see at all. He's scared of a lot of things, with the rain sounding all the louder here.   
  
Across from him, he feels Ken's hand press into his.   
  
The rain. The darkness. The heat from Ken, curled up not too far away from him.   
  
This is the world Chikusa falls asleep to.   
  
  
  
  
  
Everything is still dark the next time he opens his eyes, but the rain has stopped and he can feel _drool_ on his shoulder. Groaning, Chikusa squeezes his eyes shut and starts nudging at Ken with bony elbows. "Stop iiiit."   
  
A grunt answers him, and Ken burrows closer. It takes a few more elbow hits and a tug of his hair before the other boy wakes up. "What?"   
  
"Get off me. You're being gross."   
  
"You _always_ say I'm gross."   
  
"You're being gross on me!" While Ken grumbles and they untangle themselves while blind, Chikusa stews on his next words. It's as he's trying to straighten his glasses on his nose that he tries saying them. "...The rain's stopped."   
  
"Yeah... Do you think the whole place is flooded?"  
  
"If it was flooded, then there'd be water up through cracks in the floor... I think." Chikusa pushes himself up to his knees. He's still shaking, just a little bit, but it's not from adrenaline. It's more the loss of Ken's heat against him, burning like hot coals. When he goes to stand up, there only a little wobbling. "C'mon, let's go check."   
  
A lot of shuffling through the dark and Ken stubbing his toe on the latch is needed before they find the panel and ladder. Both of them hold their breaths as it falls open. Light immediately blinds them, too bright for their eyes after hours spent curled up in the attic, and Chikusa recoils with a grimace. Besides him, he can hear Ken curse with the kind of words Chikusa's own parents would despair at. It takes a long moment before his eyes adjust again so that he can stare down at the floor below.   
  
"...There's no water." That's a little bit of a lie. He thinks he can see some stains, here and there, from where rain somehow seems to have pelted the wood and rugs of his parents' room. Still, it's a far cry from the flooded disaster he was dreading.   
  
"Then it's okay!" Before he can protest, Ken is already swinging himself down and jumping halfway down the ladder. Chikusa scrambles to follow after him, ignoring his own trepidation. His feet touch the ground just in time for Ken's whistle. "Hey, hey Kakipii, come and look." He's over by a window when Chikusa looks around, one that's whole and not broken like a couple in the room. His bare hands are plastered against the glass, nose squished up against it, and Chikusa can't fight against the call of Ken's voice and his own curiosity. When he stops besides him, his breath is stolen away.  
  
Rudshore... is more ocean than district. Chikusa can't comprehend it for a second as he stands there besides Ken and gapes. Sunlight reflects off of the water, deceptively serene as though it hadn't rampaged only hours before. From its grasp rise some buildings still, battered and showing obvious signs of wear. Belatedly, it occurs to him to wipe his glasses along the curtains, and the world comes further into focus: shattered windows all along the street, debris floating idly through once bustling streets, and, off in the distance, the crumbled and gaping remains of the barrier which once held the ocean at bay.   
  
The place that was once home is now nothing more than abandoned ruins, left to the sea as an offering.   
  
Chikusa can't find the words for it all as he looks out past the window. He's not sure he even _has_ any. Yet, almost reliably, Ken pipes up besides him to ruin the moment. "Wow, everything is _shit_ now."   
  
That's one way to snap him out of it. Chikusa doesn't scowl at the language, however. Still bare save for the little that covers his modesty, he wraps his arms around himself and shivers. "I don't think anyone is going to come to find us for a while..."   
  
"But, they'll come eventually, right?" Ken stretches his arms up over his head, and it reminds Chikusa of how sore his own body feels. "Because you're a rich family's kid. There's no way your ma and pop would leave you."   
  
Chikusa bites his lip, rubbing at his elbows. "But... Where was everyone else before, then? I woke up and the whole house was empty..."  
  
"Oh. Uh." Ken pauses, brow furrowing as he digs through his mind. It's always easy to tell when he's trying to remember something or is frustrated. He wears all his emotions on his sleeve. Chikusa likes watching his expression change. Now, especially so. It distracts him from everything else. "Well, it was supposed to only be me and some of my family, right? Because some people couldn't come work because... I dunno, I wasn't listening, whatever, it's not important. So all of us had to go when we needed to get stuff for the house. We were up near, you know, Knight Street, and then everyone started talking about how the dam was gonna break soon because it was storming so hard and about how it might be better if we just left..." His hands jerk about clumsily as he gestures, trying to explain that way. "But I remembered you were still here, so I came back."   
  
Something warm and painfully soft twists is in his stomach. Still, there's a question he can't help but wonder about. "All the streets looked like they were going to be flooded, 'tho... How did you get up to the second floor?"  
  
"I just broke a window to get inside." A pause, and Ken wrinkles his nose. "...Actually I broke a bunch of windows. There was a bunch of people in the streets, and it was easier, so, I did it."  
  
"But... Doesn't that mean your family will notice you're missing, too?"  
  
"Naaah." Ken rocks back and forth on his feet. "I mean, my family is _huge_. There's a bunch of kids. I don't think anyone'll miss me."   
  
"Well, I mean." Tentatively, Chikusa reaches over to link his fingers through Ken's. "I missed you."   
  
Ken blinks in befuddlement at their linked hands for a moment, face slack in surprise, but before Chikusa can worry that he's messed up somehow- there's a wide grin. The other boy doesn't say anything, he just excitedly swings their hands faster and wider. That's... probably normal. It's when he starts stomping his feet, almost hopping a little in place, that Chikusa becomes sure of two things:   
  
One is that there's no fighting the incredulous expression on his face.   
  
Two is that Ken is even weirder than he _thought_.   
  
Before he can ask what on earth is wrong with him, Ken twists around dragging Chikusa with him. "Let's go explore the rest of the house!"   
  
"Wh- Ken, hold on, we need to get dressed!"   
  
Considering most of Rudshore is apparently underwater, which includes some of the on-site servant quarters, the only thing they can do is go to Chikusa's room. Predictably, nothing of his actually fits Ken. Chikusa's clothes dangle past his hands and pool at his feet. A good few minutes of their time is rolling up sleeves and pants legs until Ken can actually walk around without tripping over himself. It's then and only then that Chikusa gives the go-ahead for them to explore the rest of the house. Everywhere in the third floor is mostly fine, save for wind-scattered objects and a little rain having intruded through broken or blown open windows. It's when they start to go down to the second floor that Chikusa has to follow Ken's example and roll up his own pants.   
  
It's not... _completely_ flooded. That is to say, it only goes halfway up Ken's calf when they reach the floor. There's no helping the pained noise that bubbles out of Chikusa's throat when he sees the water extend to the library and his father's study. All the books... Ken's hand, still warm in his own, tugs him away from the sight until they're at the stairs.   
  
Ken squints. "I think the whole first floor is gone..."   
  
As if on cue, Chikusa's stomach twists and rumbles. He curls his free hand over it in embarrassment. "The kitchen is on the first floor... We can't not eat, Ken." He's read things about people starving. It sounds slow and painful.   
  
"Yeah, I'm hungry too." He tugs Chikusa along past the stairs. "Maybe there's stuff in some of the other houses! We can get to the neighbor's house through the windows I broke. Everyone left their stuff behind when they ran off, so they can't complain if we have it!"   
  
Chikusa thinks this over carefully as they wade through the water. After a minute or so, he nods. "They'll understand it was necessary," he agrees. There's no one that would say otherwise to a pair of starving children, right?   
  
Getting over to the next building isn't as scary as he works it up to be in his head. As Ken clears out the rest of the glass, letting it plink into the water just outside the window, Chikusa looks at the distance. It's only really a decent jump from one building to the other... And there is the water right there beneath them. Still, his fingers knead into Ken's shirt. "It'll be fine, right?"  
  
"I was doing it _a bunch_ of times," Ken promises. "Watch me!" He gets up onto the window sill, and Chikusa sticks nearby to do just as asked. Ken makes it look so _easy_ , legs tensing before he jumps over to the open window across from him. Chikusa's heart leaps into his throat when Ken lands and wobbles, looking as if he'll fall for that brief moment, before he breathes again as his best friend just steps into the building proper with a stumble. Turning around, Ken presses his knuckles to his hips proudly. "See? Now you do it!"   
  
Still more than a little nervous, Chikusa braces his palms against the window frame and pulls himself up. His feet are unsteady on the narrow ledge. Below him, the water... It's so deep. So dark. Somewhere inside its greedy maw, he can see something flick and disappear. He thinks of slipping and being pulled under, of losing his breath, and nearly steps away.   
  
Right as he thinks of refusing, he looks up. Ken is there, watching expectantly and tensed as if he'll jump back again. Chikusa swallows. If he stays, he'll be alone again. He'll be alone for however long Ken will be gone, and what if he doesn't come back one day? Fear strikes through him sharper than the sting of water and, before he knows it, Chikusa is leaping. There's the window sill- and then he's slipping with a yelp, flailing as he starts to fall forward. Before his legs can fall out from under him, however, there's hands grabbing his arms and tugging him forward. The two of them stumble into the room, nearly falling one way or the other before finding stability. Chikusa's heart is pounding in his chest so hard his bones might break, and he digs shaking fingers into Ken's shirt. In response, Ken holds him just as tightly.   
  
"We made it!" he proclaims, dragging Chikusa along through the flooded building instead of letting him stand there and shake. Chikusa only nods mutely.   
  
Sticking close together, they explore the house. The floors that can be traversed don't offer them much in the way of food, unfortunately. That's the bad news. However, the third floor offers whale oil bottles and shoulder bags along with other things like blankets and clothes. Chikusa keeps it in mind, even as he takes two bags for himself and Ken. Much the same can be said for the next house they go through, and then the next. It's when they backtrack to explore the house _behind_ Chikusa's that they find any success.  
  
When they reach the third floor, Ken nearly jerks Chikusa's arm out of its socket, a wide grin on his face. "Kakipii, look!" It's easier said than done when he's trying not to tangle his feet together and his bangs are in his face. When he's finally straightened up, Ken has dragged them over to a woman's vanity. It's a woman's room in general, Chikusa thinks, because there's still a faint smell of floral perfume amidst the scent of rain him and Ken bring with them. There, proudly displayed, is a fruit basket that is _ridiculous_ in how opulent it is. Chikusa's parents have always been a bit more somber, even with all their riches. This is the kind of thing that only was ordered for the parties _really_ meant to impress, and here it is on someone's vanity.   
  
He's not surprised in the slightest to see Ken already reaching for it with a wide grin on his face. Then again, with the gnawing in his stomach, Chikusa doesn't care. Relief washes through him, and he shares the grin Ken levies his way as they both grab for a fruit.   
  
Hunger, as it turns out, doesn't really allow for much thought. There's only the satisfying sweet taste over his tongue as he bites through a peach, the sunlight pouring down on him as they settle in front of a window, and Ken's comforting sturdy presence leaning against him.   
  
When he finishes, peach filling some of the hollow ache of his stomach and his tongue licking juice away from his fingers, that Chikusa comes to. "No, no," he says, swatting at Ken's hand as he reaches for an apple. "We shouldn't eat anymore."   
  
Ken scowls at him, not appreciating how he's being held back. " _Why_? I want to eat all of it!"   
  
"But if we eat all of it right _now_ , what will we eat _later_?" As Ken pauses at that fact, Chikusa frowns to himself and kneads his fingers into his pants leg. "...I wanna eat more too. But... If we're not careful, we'll eat up everything before someone can find us. So... We should bring this back home, and put it in the attic where we went to sleep. That way we know other things won't get it." It's the responsible thing to do, he thinks, and it makes him feel a little proud of himself. He can make sure Ken has food to eat. He'll watch over him too, just like he promised.   
  
Not that Ken seems to really _appreciate_ all this thought being put into place, judging by the raspberry he makes. "Uuuuugh, I hate it when you pull smart stuff like this." He sends another hungry look towards the basket. "That means we'll get to eat it for dinner tonight, right?"  
  
"Yeah. And if we find anything else, we can make that a part of dinner too."  
  
"...Do we _have_ to wait _that long_..." He tears his hungry glance away from the basket to pout at Chikusa. "C'mon, Kakipii!"   
  
He really wants to refuse, but the little he's eaten just puts that bit of emptiness in his stomach in stark contrast to everything else. Surrendering, he reaches into the basket again. "We can share a Tyvian pear together."  
  
"Oh like that book!"   
  
It takes a second for Chikusa to parse his meaning, but when he does, he nearly drops the pear with a red face. "It's nothing like that book!" At his red face, all Ken does is laugh. Stopping it means shoving pear pieces into his face.   
  
By the time they go through the rest of the house, gathering whatever they can into their bags, the air is thick with humidity as they hop back home. Definitely too humid to keep exploring. The worst of the day is passed back in Chikusa's room, with books salvaged from the library and Ken's head on his lap.   
  
It's.... almost nice. Nicer than the stifling confines of his life before.   
  
"How long do you think it will take them to find us?" Chikusa asks when they've retreated to the attic after night has fallen, the soft blue glow of a whale oil lamp illuminating the dark space. His hands stay busy, organizing books and trinkets he'd brought up while Ken napped. His parents will be glad of it, maybe. "A day, a couple of days...?"  
  
Unlike him, Ken doesn't do so well in such a small dark space, but there's no exploring in the night. The waters robbed all power, too, and there's no one else to light the street lamps. Chikusa watches him pace impatiently, his body dipping in and out of the circle of light. A frustrated groan echoes out from the darkness. "I hope it's soon, it's so _boring_ being up here! And I already ate the fruit for dinner..."  
  
"Go to sleep, Ken."   
  
"But I'm so _booooored_!" He ducks into the light again, flopping onto his stomach all over the rug. "We should have brought fun stuff up here, too..."  
  
Chikusa only half hears him. His hands are moving, but his mind is elsewhere entirely. "If they don't find us tomorrow... Then we're going to have to keep finding food. And whale oil. And, and..." He pauses, thumb rubbing against the wood of his mother's jewelry box.   
  
A pinch of his thigh snaps him out of it, and he looks down at Ken who's crawled over to him. He pokes his leg again. " _Now_ who has to go to sleep? You think too much."   
  
"And you don't think at all, so I have to think for both of us."  
  
"Yeah, well, you suck-!" Chikusa yelps as Ken tackles him to the ground, and it quickly dissolves into choked giggles because of the fingers digging into his sides. He flails ineffectually, jerking beneath Ken and trying to squeeze his arms down to block the attack. There's no fighting against Ken, however. Chikusa laughs until he feels dizzy and tears are flooding past his cheeks. He wheezes when Ken rocks back, still sitting on top of him, and he can barely see the other boy's triumphant grin. "Dumb Kakipii."  
  
Wiping at his eyes, Chikusa tries to own his own small smile. "You cheated."   
  
"Nuh uh! You were being dumb, so it's fair."   
  
"That doesn't make sense."   
  
"It makes great sense." Straightening his glasses, Chikusa watches as Ken sticks his tongue out at him. "You were being dumb. You don't have to worry about all this stuff when I'm around. I _told_ you I'd take care of you."  
  
Ken shuffles off him, looking proud, and Chikusa sits up shaking his head. "And I said I'd take care of you first, remember?" Letting Ken process that, Chikusa reaches over to reach for the jewelry box that had tumbled across the floor. "You can take care of me... tomorrow. When we go out again to explore. You can make sure I'm safe, and I'll make sure we get everything important."   
  
He watches Ken roll the idea around in his head for only a quick second before there's a bright grin and a nod. "Yeah! Where are we gonna go explore tomorrow?"  
  
For a moment, he flounders. He hadn't thought- but then again, it's not like there's anyone else to tell them what to do. "Uh.... Is there anywhere you wanna go?"  
  
"Ummm.... Oh!" Ken snaps his fingers. "We should go to the Erfeches."   
  
"Erfeches?" His brow furrows. "They're across the street, so it's gonna be hard... Why that house?"  
  
"'Cuz the guys who live there are jerks and I hate them."   
  
Well, Chikusa guesses he can't argue with that logic. He nods. "Then we'll figure out a way to go to the Erfeches." His hand smooths over the jewelry box and he frowns at Ken. "My parents are gonna be upset at how this is scratched..."  
  
"We don't have to tell 'em it was us! We can say it was the storm!"  
  
  
  
  
  
As it turns out, they don't have to worry about what to say to Chikusa's parents. No one comes for them the next day.   
  
  
  
Or the day after.   
  
  
  
Or the whole week.   
  
  
  
  
  
They move the important things up to the attic. This includes just about all the books from the library, of course, which is a whole big thing that takes an entire day inbetween their exploring. Chikusa lets organizing them occupy his nights sometimes, something simple and repetitive that doesn't _really_ take a lot of effort. Oftentimes, he falls asleep curled in front of a stack of books and inevitably wakes up with Ken somehow having found his way to him again in the night curled up against his stomach. Blankets, tools, nearly everything salvageable from his father's study, and clothes are among the other things they gather both from what's not flooded of their own house and in the houses they venture into. Slowly, day by day, they collect quite the hoard. When they go to sleep, it's in a nest of blankets, and when they eat, they choose from a pile of cans full of potted whale meat or jellied eels. It's not fine dining, but neither Chikusa or Ken can complain too much when their stomachs twist.  
  
Still... The dilemma runs circles through Chikusa's head. In the past, he's always listened to Ken's complaints about little things like problems at the grocers or the grossness of the docks ever since the other boy first realized he'd listen. He knows better than to just assume that they'll be able to keep finding battered tins. Things like that don't magically replenish.   
  
After all, no one lives in Rudshore but them now.   
  
Well, them and the hagfish. From the makeshift bridges him and Ken put together connecting the windows, Chikusa stops one day to watch the water. Some places are clearer than others. It makes it easier to watch their long slick frames drift beneath the boards. In front of him, Ken stops because he has, and his warm palm squirms in Chikusa's hand. "Does one of them have a finger in its mouth?"  
  
"Ew, no." Chikusa shakes his head, nose wrinkling. "I was just thinking.... I wonder how hard it would be to catch one."   
  
"Well, hagfish'll eat anything, s'what I've heard. Even each other." Ken crouches down, the wood beneath him creaking a little bit. It won't break, of course. It was once a table made of Tyvian lumber and apparently that never breaks. What Chikusa is far more concerned with is how Ken reaches his fingers just barely into the water and wiggles them. In the murk, a sharp twist, pale eyes, the glint of long fangs- Ken jerks his hand up out of the water right as the hagfish snaps its jaw up and Chikusa shouts.   
  
"Ken!"   
  
Nothing but laughter, although some of it is a little jittery. "They're huge!"   
  
"Don't do that!" Chikusa fingers dig into Ken's knuckles and around his arm. More than he wants to admit, his voice and body shakes. Something about it seems to get Ken's attention, because he stops laughing and nudges his head against Chikusa's.   
  
"I'm fine, see?" He holds up his hand, mostly clear except for a few tiny scratches and calluses. It's a mirror of Chikusa's own, a show of the life they're sharing together. "You're such a scaredy cat, Kakipii. Nothing's gonna hurt me!"   
  
That's almost definitely not true, but Chikusa tries to let it comfort him as the two of them stand up together. "...It looks like if that latched onto you, it'd hurt a lot."   
  
"They do have really long teeth." Ken leads the way into the next building, where the shade is a relief from the beat of the sun outside. "And it'd be hard to grab them, because they're so slippery." Thoughtfully, he sticks his tongue out and curls it up over his lips. Honestly, it's kind of gross. It always makes him look like he's trying to stick his tongue up his own nose.   
  
"Yeah... We'd have to use bait, or something." The idea doesn't sit well with him. They're precarious with food as it is. Can they really afford to use some of it on an idea that might not even work? There's a bump against his shoulder, and Chikusa blinks his way out of his own thoughts. Ken tugs him along.  
  
"C'mon, Kakipii. You can worry about it later. I bet up where the water is more shallow, there's lots more food people left behind."  
  
And for once, Ken is right. Food is found farther then they've ever gone before, in a building where the first floor has water that only goes up to their waists instead of the ceiling. Chikusa nearly gasps when he peers around a doorframe in the backrooms. It's the first time he's seen a kitchen in over a _week_ and there, piled high on counters, are boxes. He can't even speak. All Chikusa can do is tug Ken away from where he's been side eyeing the water. Something deep in his chest swells in satisfaction when he sees the way his best friend's eyes light up at the sight. "Do you think it's all still good!?" Ken babbles in excitement as they stumble through the water, letting go of Chikusa's hand to help heft himself up onto the counters. Chikusa, in contrast, tries to wade through the water to a door nearby. A pantry, probably. Some things on the counters- a can opener, a couple of knives, useful things- he snatches up on the way there to shove into his bag.   
  
Behind him, he can hear Ken going through one of the boxes and whooping. "I think there's actually _bread_ in this! And it's not moldy yet!"   
  
Bread. More tins. Maybe even other stuff, depending on what's safe in the pantry. Excitement thrums through Chikusa.   
  
Getting the pantry door open through all the water is tough. In all honesty, it's more a job for Ken than Chikusa. Still, he manages just enough for there to be a gap he can slip through. Light dimly lights up the room, reflecting off of the water and casting strange shadows on the wall. Something about it speeds his heart up. Too small a space, water too cold as it envelops his legs. Chikusa forces the feeling down. This is for food. This is for Ken. He's more important than Chikusa's feelings. Opening one of two ice chests is easier than the pantry door, and so much is still full of food. Chikusa would wonder about it, but he knows why there's food left behind like this in comparison to the growing lack of paintings or rugs as they've come further from the deeper parts of Rudshore. It's the same reason his mother's jewelry box lays up in the attic with all the more sensible things. For now, he focuses on what's in front of him: all this food that's been able to last thanks to the coolness of shadows and water and what remains of the ice.   
  
It's right as he's shoving some Serkonan sausage into his bag that there's the sound of _pounding_.   
  
Chikusa's heart leaps into his throat.   
  
Immediately he stops what he's doing and wades back to the cracked open pantry door. The pounding continues the entire time, hitting a crescendo of wood splintering and falling into the water. Ken is still on the counters, but he's made his way to the ones by the door while drawn down on all fours. With the door opening inwards, he's out of sight to anyone coming in. Spotting Chikusa peering out, he presses one finger to his bared teeth. It's not like he has to tell him twice.  
  
As Chikusa shrinks back into the shadows of the pantry, he holds his breath and listens. Like so many houses of Rudshore now, there's such an  _emptiness_ that even the softest creak or drip is often horrendously loud. He's noticed it for days now, sitting in an empty building with Ken on his lap and taking it all in. Silence and echoing noises are what he's used to. Whoever is busting through the front door, however, is making _so much loudness_ that it rattles him down to his core. Chikusa curls his fingers against the doorframe, heartbeat in his ears, and forces himself not to shake as water splashes in some of the other rooms.   
  
The source of it all finally wades through into the kitchen after what feels like an eternity. In the dimness, he seems like more a monster than the gaping jaws of hagfish: tall, rough featured, scowling and swearing under his breath. The hair on the back of Chikusa's neck stands up while he watches him. To be more specific, he watches to make sure he doesn't notices Ken's frame hunched beneath a cupboard. The good news is that he doesn't, attention firmly on the boxes ahead of him. Maybe it's his noisy movements that keep him from not noticing Chikusa's breath and drum-loud heartbeat, because he can't imagine how the man doesn't hear him otherwise.  
  
He's praying, desperately and with everything he has in his meager frame, that nothing happens. The same parts of him that whisper _danger_ whenever wood seems too weak or water too deep are yelling it in his ear now.   
  
All that prayer goes straight out the window when the man starts to go through the box and, after tucking a tin in his pocket, starts to pick it up. An enraged _shriek_ rebounds through the kitchen, nearly stopping Chikusa's heart, and Ken is yelling even as he leaps at the man from his perch. "That's  _OURS_!"   
  
Chikusa wants to yell, to do something, but his body is frozen up completely- the first of the flood all over again, as if the water is coiled around him even though it's only up to his waist. All he can do is watch with his voice lodged in his throat. Ken is a flurry of indignation and possessiveness, attached to the man's back and shoulders while his fingers try to claw at his face. It's hard to tell what's louder, his enraged yelling or the barrage of vicious ugly swears that fall out of the man's face as he flails and stumbles through the water. For a brief solitary second, Chikusa thinks maybe Ken will do it, Ken is always saying he's strong, maybe he'll _win_ and he'll be _okay_ \-   
  
Reaching over his shoulder, the man grabs Ken by his shirt. Chikusa flinches back as he's flung against one of the counters and the sharpness of his pained yelp. Crumpling into the water, he doesn't even have time to resurface before he's grabbed again and hauled up. Slamming Ken against the cupboards, the man snarls. "You little bastard! I'm gonna cut you up for the damn hagfish-" Ken's arms are so short compared to his, his nails can only scrabble against his hand and wrist. There's nothing he can _do_ as the man, from his pocket, fishes out a _knife_.  
  
Everything in the world twists in Chikusa's eyes. He's submerged again, the world slow, his lungs robbed of air. He's going to kill Ken. _He's going to kill Ken_. The only person who's ever truly looked at Chikusa, the only person who's come back for him, the only one who's _cared_ , and this stranger is going to rob Chikusa of all of that. His body moves independently of his frozen mind, not needing any input, and Chikusa feels like an outsider looking in as he watches his hand reach into his bag. The handle of the kitchen knife fits awkwardly in his hand, but the way he grips it with the white of his knuckles showing past skin makes up for it in spades. Ken's ruckus is the perfect distraction, his feet lashing out to make up for his lack of reach and prolonging the plunge of a knife. The man doesn't notice Chikusa wading through the water behind him.   
  
Not until Chikusa pulls back his arm and thrusts the knife point as hard as he can into the back of his thigh.  
  
It sinks in so easily. Distant and detached, Chikusa marvels at the fact. It slides out easy, too, just in time as the man gives a shout. He drops Ken as he crumples, but Chikusa doesn't stop. The motion of his arms and the knife is almost mechanical. He doesn't even need to think about it. Again, the knife pierces through from the back this time but it's a little harder. Images of anatomy books spread out beneath his palms flicker through Chikusa's mind. Compact muscle and bone, not like the softer flesh in the leg. Brought down like this, he's perfectly in reach for Chikusa to adjust the hold of the knife and drive it in again between his shoulder blades. All the yelling and the squelch of flesh becomes farther and farther away, his hands moving again and again and again, and soon enough the world is quiet and the only thing that exists are his hands moving-   
  
Chikusa's vision jerks. It takes him a second to realize there are arms wrapped around his chest from behind, and that he's being dragged away. As the world comes back into focus, so does the sound reach his ears again. "-pii, c'mon, quit it, he's _dead_ already, Kakipii!"   
  
It's Ken, his voice right next to Chikusa's ear. He stops moving his hands, realizing belatedly that there's blood smeared and wet along the skin there. All the water has made it more pink than crimson, a color nearly lost in the gloom. Chikusa stares at the sight, quiet, and that allows Ken plenty of time to let go of him and circle around. "About time! I was yelling at you for ages!" Before he can gear up into a proper rant, however, Ken pauses and squints his eyes at him. "...Kakipii?"  
  
He needs to answer him. Chikusa knows this. It takes him a second, however, to remember how to speak. "Huh?" He sounds far away even to his own ears; who knows what Ken hears. It's enough to make the other boy frown, however, brow furrowed.   
  
"...Are you okay?" The answering nod from Chikusa doesn't seem to convince him. As Chikusa watches, Ken fidgets and squirms in place. Whatever he's wondering or whatever he really wants to say, he can't seem to get it together. After a moment, Chikusa can see where he gives up as he glances back to.... oh.   
  
The body of the man is still there. They both stare at it as it floats there, ripples fluttering out from the water that has now been made a little more pink. There's more knife wounds than Chikusa remembers making, in more places than he remembers _seeing_.   
  
Ken breaks the silence which has once more taken over the house. "It's... really _easy_ to kill someone, huh?"  
  
Instead of a solid affirmative, all Chikusa can manage is a soft sound fluttering out of his throat, about as strong as a newborn bird. He agrees, of course, so why can't he say it? Speaking isn't hard. Sometimes he acts like it is, but it isn't, not really. While he ponders this mystery, Ken frowns again and seems to bristle from his head to his toes.   
  
"You're acting weird!" he declares, grabbing Chikusa's hand. With no resistance, he drags Chikusa back to the stairs and up to the second floor. Lost in thought, Chikusa barely notices the journey. What draws his fascination is being able to observe how limp his body is in Ken's grip, putting one foot in front of the other by less thought and more automation. When he finally starts paying attention to everything else again, Ken has dragged him to a stop at the window they first entered through. Ken's hands on his shoulders push him down easily, knees folding neatly beneath Chikusa's body. The ease of it seems to disturb Ken, his jaw tense and his furrowed brows only pressed tighter together. "Okay... Okay, you, uh, you stay here! You stay here and organize all the food and stuff, and I'll bring the other stuff up! And if anybody else comes, we'll just run, 'cuz we got a lot already." He pauses, pursing his lips as he watches Chikusa expectantly. "...Okay?"  
  
Talking goes smoother this time. "Okay," Chikusa echoes back, although the voice that leaves his mouth doesn't sound like his own. Still, just being talked to seems to reassure Ken. The way he's gone all bristle smooths out a bit. It doesn't stop him from constantly looking back over his shoulder at Chikusa constantly until he's finally gone through the doorframe and turned into the hall.  
  
Organizing things, as it turns out, is a good way to keep his body occupied. Cans and jars and bottles all click against each other, glass against metal, sharp little noises which keep him focused on the world instead of drifting away. They're the only things keep him there. Well, them and Ken, who checks on Chikusa every time he brings an armful of stuff up.  
  
In the end, no one comes. They don't have to make a run for it. With bags and packs bulging, him and Ken make their escape back down into the depths of Rudshore. There's no end to the glances Ken sends his way, whether crossing makeshift bridges or venturing through abandoned buildings, and Chikusa wishes he could make him _stop_. He wishes he could make himself stop whatever it is he's doing.   
  
Yet it's nothing he knows how to control.   
  
That point is driven home when they pass through the ruined remnants of a bedroom, once pristine glass blown through and reflecting a myriad of colors from the sunlight filtering through the open panes. Suddenly, there's.... Chikusa abruptly comes to a stop, and Ken stops with him, tensing up. He can _feel_ him tensing up- his hand still slick in Chikusa's loose grip from humidity and the water they've traversed, the heartbeat still pulsing hotly at his palm, rows upon rows of calluses and a long jagged scratch across the joint of his thumb that presses up unevenly from his skin. From Ken's hand, up his arm and to his shoulder where the straps of the bags have dug in so much that the aches there are dangerously close to numbness. From his shoulder, up to his face-   
  
There's a tackiness there.   
  
He knows what it is.   
  
The wail that rises up out of his throat leaves it tender and knocks all the energy out from his legs. Chikusa crumples to the ground, tears welling up in his eyes, and Ken trips over himself in his urgency to turn around. "Kakipii!"   
  
Fumbling hands reach out to grasp one another, but Chikusa can't stop crying. He's _himself_ again, and everything he did wasn't just a bad dream. It was _real_. Things are _real_. What he did can't be taken back, and he squeezes Ken's hands desperately. Sobs wrack his body as Ken watches helplessly on.   
  
"Kakipii, what's wrong, are you hurt, what happened, this isn't funny-!"   
  
"They're _never_ going to come back for me now!" Chikusa wheezes. The words come out rough and wet like he's swallowed sand. "Never! I- I did something bad, I did the _worst_ -" All he can think about is when Overseers had come calling the last year. His parents have always held them in esteem, for as long as Chikusa can remember, and they've had them visit to be on the Abbey's good side. How many times has he had to sit patiently in front of a towering and masked figure, listening to words intoned to him? How many times had he patiently recited those same words back, all for a glimmer of attention from his parents' nods and praise from a masked stranger? He starts to babble them out, as if they can clean the sin from his hands. "R-Restrict restless hands, unfet-fettered by honest labor, they rush to _deeds of violence_ -" Tears are rushing down his face, pushed out by the sting behind his eyes. All he can see is that mask and that symbol. "What- what value a-are hands th-that steal and k-kill and-"  
  
" _Shut up_!" Chikusa hiccups into silence, blinking away tears as Ken comes back into focus. It's hard to tell if it's the tears or just the natural state of all the red that's rushed up to Ken's face that makes his skin seem like a blotch of passionate color. "Shut up, Kakipii! He- he was gonna kill me! You heard what he was sayin'! You were protecting me! And, and, who _cares_ if they never come back for us!? I'll take care of you! I'll take care of you and protect you and everything! We don't need anyone! So shut up!" As Chikusa's vision clears a bit, it's easier to see how Ken's face has contorted into an expression of distress.   
  
He hiccups again. "I'm.... sorry...."  
  
Ken snuffles, the sound like a small engine revving up. "You're so dumb."   
  
"The Overseers..."  
  
"I don't care! Their masks are dumb anyway."   
  
They're a little scary, actually, in Chikusa's opinion, but he doesn't say that. He just squeezes Ken's hand. "...I didn't want him to kill you."   
  
"Well, I didn't want to be killed either." Grunting, Ken gets up to his feet and pulls Chikusa up with him. "C'mon... It's gonna get dark soon. We gotta get home quicker." True enough, the sky is starting to settle into warmer colors than the wash of clear blue and serene white clouds. They barely make it in time back home, fumbling to get the ladder to open. Some stale bread and cider later, they turn off the lamp and curl against each other like they have for so many days now. Yet in the silence and darkness, Chikusa still can't fall asleep.   
  
As it turns out, neither can Ken. He shifts in their blanket nest and his fingers knead Chikusa's shirt. It takes some time before he speaks. "...Hey, Kakipii."   
  
"What?"  
  
"...That guy said he was gonna feed me to the hagfish."  
  
"...Yeah."   
  
"...They'll eat anything, right?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I was just thinkin'... I mean, he's dead. So if he's still there tomorrow..."  
  
"...That's gross, Ken."   
  
"Yeah, well, it'd be bait, right? So we could get hagfish to eat." He wiggles against him. "...You don't have to come if you want."   
  
Chikusa thinks about it, about being left alone again in the emptiness of the house, only himself and his breathing- his fingers dig into Ken's sides with more force than he means, without his input. "I'm coming."  
  
For all that his fingers must hurt at least a little, Ken doesn't seem bothered. If anything, an undercurrent of relief runs in his voice when he answers. "Okay."   
  
  
  
In the morning, they set off again.  
  
The body is still there.   
  
Getting it back home along with bags of whatever they had missed the first time is tough.   
  
Chikusa tries not to think about it too much, even as Ken teaches him how to roast fish over the flame of an upper floor fireplace.   
  
  
  
  
  
"Ken?"  
  
Upstairs, the sun makes the house unbearably warm. For today, they've retreated down to the flooded floor. Some of the jars Chikusa keeps down here in the water, where they have at least a little protection against the heat and last a bit. He can only hope they do anyway. Today, however, isn't about the jars. It's him and Ken, wading in the water. Well, Chikusa is wading, keeping near the stairs. Ken has already swum all the way to touch the railings opposite of the stairs. At Chikusa's voice, he glances back.   
  
"What?"  
  
"I... don't know how."   
  
"How what?"  
  
"How to swim."   
  
"Whaaaaaat?" Immediately, he starts to splash back. Chikusa raises a hand to shield his face from the water going everywhere. "How can you not know how to swim!?"   
  
"It's not like anyone taught me," he grumbles back, frowning at Ken's wide teasing grin. "Not everyone just _knows_."   
  
"I bet people totally just know." Ken stops making a mess as his feet find the stairs. "Alright, c'mon, I'll teach you how to float. Just lay back in the water and I'll hold you."   
  
"You better not drop me..."   
  
"I won't!" Ken huffs at him until he complies, turning around and trying to lay down like he would anywhere else. "No, c'mon- you're gotta spread your arms and legs out." Still, as Chikusa tries to get the hang of it, Ken does as he promised. His hands don't feel any hotter or warmer than the water they're in, and they're a comfort where they press along the plain of Chikusa's back. Laying there, it's simple to close his eyes and focus on nothing but the sound of Ken's breath and the calluses on his fingertips.   
  
"Ken..."   
  
"Okay, I think you got it-"   
  
"No one's coming back for us, are they?"  
  
Ken falls silent. Chikusa doesn't open his eyes to try and analyze the expression on his face. He keeps talking, voice soft.   
  
"It's been over two months now. I've been counting the days. If they really wanted to find us, they'd have done it before now, right?"  
  
"I guess..." He sounds reluctant to admit it, and Chikusa can practically feel his eyes focused on him and nothing else. He doesn't have to. Chikusa isn't going to cry this time, and he isn't going to 'leave' either. He simply takes a breath.  
  
"We should go into the rest of the city."


	3. world's a beast of a burden

Perhaps predictably, none of Chikusa's old clothes are suitable for going out into the general public.   
  
This is according to Ken, who blows a raspberry at every single one that gets laid out. "They're not right," he says, crossing his arms as they sit in the third floor room where the sun filtering through the windows is better light than the ethereal glow of whale oil. "It's all too.... _nice_."  
  
Chikusa glances down at what he's spread out against the floor. None of it actually looks nice by his estimate. Before the flood, servants would painstakingly wash and iron everything, doing their best to make sure it looked nearly as good as new. That hasn't happened for _ages_ now. Actually, he can't even remember the last time they had a bath; he doubts wading through water all the time actually counts. His clothes, thus, have seen the wear of such a life. Some have holes. All of them are dirty. He's pretty sure some of the more expensive material has been ruined forever. Dubiously, he glances back at Ken and arches up an eyebrow.   
  
"Y-You know what I mean!" He doesn't, actually, but it's kind of funny to watch brilliant red rush over Ken's skin as he gets flustered. When he doesn't say anything, Ken puffs out his cheeks and stomps his foot. "You can _tell_ it's supposed to be nice!"   
  
Well, maybe he has something there. Chikusa crouches down by one of the button up shirts and picks at it. Appearance is everything. He knows that as well as anyone. It was why his parents had despaired at his growth spurts and how nothing ever actually stayed tailored to his frame for long. The way he was presented was more a reflection of them than himself. Even at this age, he's picked up on that. People he didn't really know would scrutinize his appearance, looking for any flaws to pick apart. Those kinds of people would notice immediately that these were once nice clothes. They'd have questions.   
  
It hadn't really occurred to him that he'd have to worry about that with anyone else outside his family's acquaintances.   
  
"I guess I get it," he answers at long last, and Ken practically melts with how quickly he eases up. He stops fidgeting in a heartbeat. "We have other clothes, so.... We can try those, I guess."  
  
As it turns out, it's not that easy. Going up to the attic and dumping clothes down the ladder is, of course, because anyone can do that. It's just... Chikusa's family had been rich. They lived in a rich neighborhood. So many piles that Chikusa dumps down, some more torn than others when they'd needed the extra cloth on its own, still get rejected by Ken's high- low?- standards. Chikusa is starting to think they'll _never_ find anything decent and never venture back into the rest of Dunwall when Ken calls up to him.   
  
"Hey! This stuff looks okay!"  
  
Hand gripping the edge of the opening, Chikusa squints down. Held up in triumphant fists are some dull brown pants and faded white shirts. They look way too big for him, to say nothing of _Ken_. "Are you _sure_?"  
  
"Of course I'm sure!" Indignation tinges the edge of Ken's words. "You don't even know not-fancy clothes!"   
  
"Ken, they don't look like they even fit!"  
  
"They'll fit! Stupid Kakipii, I'll show you-"  
  
"Ken, don't..." It's too late. Chikusa shakes his head as clothes start getting tugged off and flung throughout the room, all to the sound of Ken's grumbling. In the time it takes for him to carefully make his way down the ladder, his best friend's clothes are scattered who knows where in the mess they've already made and Ken is draped in a shirt three sizes too big for him. He practically looks like a _toddler_ instead of someone closer to eight. What really makes things hilarious, however, is how his upper lip is curled up in such a fierce pout that it squishes up against his nose.   
  
"Shut up," Ken says sulkily.   
  
"I didn't say anything." While he mopes, Chikusa comes closer to inspect the large shirt. It does seem like it's made out of a different material than the rest of their clothing... And honestly it seems a little more durable too. The problem is the obvious size difference. "Where did we get these?"  
  
"Why do you think _I_ remember?"  
  
Good point, he guesses. Ken doesn't usually remember little details like that and, frankly, Chikusa guesses it's telling that even he can't remember. They can remember how much of a thing a place still has- food or whale oil or broken pieces of wood- but the details are fuzzy. There's only so much time in the day for them to run through buildings, clear them out, and then get back before the sun sets and they're helplessly lost in the darkness. In fact, with the passage of time, their need to rush has only gotten more intense. That storm from months past had left lasting effects, and some buildings even now are still falling apart. You never know when the creaking of a house is natural or the telltale sign of disaster. It's more than enough to make Chikusa worry about how much longer they have in their own home, even if the stone seems to be holding up well.   
  
He plucks at one of the sleeves, frowning. "Do you know how to sew?"  
  
"Only my sisters know how to sew, dummy."  
  
Ugh. Figures. Chikusa's mouth screws up and his nose wrinkles. "If one of us knew how to sew, I bet we could make this fit better..." If it's going to be the two of them taking care of each other, that's going to be one of many other things they have to learn, isn't it? Everything is suddenly overwhelming. All this time, he's only been thinking about food and their home. That's only _two_ things out of _so many_. Him and Ken are going to keep growing- they'll need new clothes. What if they get hurt? Really badly hurt? The things in his father's office aren't a lot. And there's no way they can stay here _forever_ , not with all the buildings in disrepair, and flooded, and infested-   
  
"Kakipii?" Chikusa blinks out of his thoughts. Ken is staring at him, brows furrowed. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah. Why?"  
  
"You were..." Before he can explain, Ken shuts himself up and his mouth twists strangely. That's definitely weird. Ken never goes quiet. He just says whatever comes to mind. "It's dumb, nevermind! So what are we gonna do?"  
  
Letting the weird moment go, Chikusa sighs. "I guess we're going to have to roll the sleeves up... Maybe that'll be enough." As it turns out, it's not great, but also not as bad as it could be. At his size, Ken is always going to look like the clothes they've found so far aren't enough and that's he's drowning in them. With a belt secured around his waist, he's 80% folds of cloth. Chikusa himself fairs a little better, but not by much. Ken's laughter rings out through the room as he fumbles to do up the buttons.   
  
"You look dumb!"   
  
"We _both_ look dumb," he grumbles. "Now come on. Put on your regular clothes and put those ones to the side. Let's see if we can find anything today and we'll go into town tomorrow."   
  
Adding to his concerns, they don't really find much before they have to run back home, and Chikusa spends the whole night in the attic counting the things they have left. Ken literally has to drag him to their blankets to sleep. It's not a restful one. Not on Chikusa's end. At one point, he wakes up and opens the panel down into his parents' room, driven by a panic that the sun is already too far up. It's not up at all, and Ken has to drag him back again with success only given when he agrees to leave the panel open. By the time morning is actually there, both of them haven't slept well and Ken is grumpy.   
  
"C'mon, _you're_ the one who was fussing all night!" Ken yells up the ladder as Chikusa stumbles over to it. He squints as he makes his way down, eyeing the way Chikusa has one fist determinedly curled up. "What's that?"  
  
"Nothing." Chikusa grabs him and tugs Ken along. "C'mon. We don't know how long it'll take us to get into Dunwall anymore."   
  
As it turns out, it takes approximately an hour of constant travel to get to parts where the water isn't in their every step. Chikusa can't help but notice how different even a little thing like that is. He's too used, now, to having to slog through water, or muffle his footsteps on carpet and wood. The sound, the _feel_ , of stone beneath his feet is so different. Unlike slowly rotting wood, it won't give out under his feet. It's _steady_. Adding in the buildings that tower around them, and traversing the streets makes him feel so _tiny_. He grips Ken's hand tight as they walk together, arms brushing. It's as he's in the middle of staring up at the buildings that Ken jerks his hand. Hurrying over up a set of steps and huddling against a battered door they find there, Chikusa strains his hearing. Distantly, he can hear the sharp click of boots on stone. Ken's back presses up back into his ribs.  
  
Voices. Gruff, matching the authoritative click of heels. "This whole place is still a rotten mess. Months! What're all those fancy nobles doin' about it?"  
  
"What, you think they're going to spend time on this mess of a place when there's actually _fixable_ districts to work on first? Hear about Slaughterhouse Row? They only got it patched up decent-like last month. That's _with_ all of Rothwild's pushin'."  
  
"Yeesh. You hear if they'ved moved stuff out of Holger Square yet?"  
  
"Started doin' it last week. Probably goin' to take the rest of the month before they're done. Still, lucky bastards. Overseers these days don't handle stone like they used to, I guess."  
  
As Chikusa and Ken watch, a pair of City Watch pass by the doorway. Chikusa holds his breath, praying desperately in his head for invisibility. It doesn't work. For one thing, invisibility is impossible. For another, in that moment, one of the guards looks up and surprise coats his face only to be quickly replaced by a firm scowl. "Hey! What are you kids doing!?"  
  
Ken bristles up against him, and Chikusa quickly nudges him sharply in the spine. "Ken, _stop_!" Reluctantly, the two of them shuffle out of the doorway and into the street. It's almost impossible to walk without tripping over Ken's own feet as the other boy keeps shoving in front of him. Chikusa can easily imagine the scowl on his face when he looks up at the guards. Then again, maybe he can't judge. As they stop in front of the two men, Chikusa is more than sticking to Ken's side. Biting back the urge to fidget, his gaze flickers up at them uncertainly. One of the guards is still scowling, arms crossed over his broad chest. The other, however, only has his hand on his hip. Exasperated, maybe, but not upset or angry.   
  
It shows in his tone when he finally speaks up. "You two haven't playing around in _this_ dump, have you?"  
  
Hastily, Chikusa answers before Ken can open his dumb mouth and pick a fight. "We were just exploring." Not even a lie. They _are_ exploring... outside of the district. Digging his fingers into the back of Ken's shirt, Chikusa glances down at him. Yup, as he feared- he's having a glaring contest with the guard who initially saw them. Chikusa tugs at his shirt to make him stop. "We're.... We're not in trouble, are we?"  
  
"We outta drag you by the ears to your parents, show you some trouble-" The horrified look on Chikusa's face must be something, because the second guard sighs and waves his partner's temper down.   
  
"It's just a pair of dumb kids getting into places they shouldn't. It's not half the trouble it'd take to get them to their parents." He looks back down to them. "But kids like you shouldn't be running around here. There's gangs and rats and all that kind of garbage lurking around here. C'mon- let's drag you back out of here before you get yourselves hurt."  
  
Both guards start to herd them along, nudging the pair back down from whence the men had come. It's _horrifying_. Heart lodged in his throat, Chikusa clings hard to Ken and obeys mutely. Never before has he had to deal with City Watch guards. _Never_. They'd been distant figures of authority, sharply dressed and standing tall, patrolling the streets with long strides only sometimes as Chikusa watched from the windows of home. Now, here on the ground, they seem strikingly different, and he can't tell if it's because of rosy memories or simple fact. So close, a bitter smell from one of the guards bites through Chikusa's nostrils, and even a worried glance back at the nicer of the two shows that his uniform is all wrinkled. An iron probably hasn't touched it in months. Against all odds, this only makes them _scarier_. Even when he tries to stop himself, Chikusa can't help looking at the heavy swords that bounce against each hip. Harder, and harder, his heart throbs. This was a mistake. This _is_ a mistake. He never should have suggested coming out. Darkness is prickling at the edges of his vision, nothing feels right, everything is too light-  
  
Warmth wraps around his wrist, callouses scraping against thin skin stretched over bone, and Chikusa blinks. Ken is still sending shady looks to the guard that threatened them, but it's his fingers that are holding onto him. Like that time months ago, something about it drips deep into Chikusa- down to the very bone. He breathes. He's back on solid ground again instead of his mind stuck in the sensation of floating away from his body. From that point on, he tries not to look behind him. All he lets his eyes focus on are Ken's fingers, mooring him to the street.   
  
Soon, however, new distractions start to filter from between the buildings and past the many roofs. First come the smells: the usual ever present salt invaded by smoke that weighs heavy in his lungs, rotting fish ten times the quantity of what he's used to in Rudshore, and the same kind of bitter smell that's coming from one of the guards. It takes a moment for Chikusa to finally recognize that's _alcohol_. Sound soon joins the smells, chatter and wheels on stone and _noise_ all mixing together. It's overwhelming even before they turn onto a street and find _people_.   
  
There's no time for him to be caught up in the disorientation of it all. A harsh nudge into his back has him and Ken stumbling forward. "Hey!" Ken shouts indignantly, glaring around Chikusa's lanky frame.   
  
"We better not see stray rats like you running around here again!" snaps the first guard, already twisting away on his heel and grumbling off. His partner stays behind, his eye roll visible beneath the shadows of his helmet.   
  
"Keep out of trouble, alright? Or you'll have to deal with him in a worse mood, and get a hiding from your parents too."  
  
"Yessir," Chikusa says quietly. The level of noise all around him makes it feel like his voice has gotten lost in it, but the guard seems to have heard him. He gives an approving nod before turning away to follow after his partner.  
  
Like the fight starting idiot he's always been, Ken is standing there with his fists balled at his sides and glaring right after the guards. It takes Chikusa, panicking and unable to hide his shaking, to drag him away off to the side. If nothing else, they can be away from the small side street that the guards dragged them through. "Stop that!" he hisses, terrified. So much could have gone wrong there. Fighting some guy breaking into houses was one thing. Going against _guards_? Chikusa breathing picks up, and Ken stops his snitty looks towards the street to whip a concerned look at him.   
  
"Kakipii-"  
  
"Just... stop it." He stops in the stairs of a nearby building, something that looks a bit like an apartment of some sort. Before them, the street is bustling with activity, and it's dizzying. There's too much. Too much people, too much noise, too much _fear_. Regret still has him in a chokehold, and Chikusa bows his head as Ken presses closer. He can already feel himself wanting to float away again. Frankly, if he was alone, Chikusa thinks he would have. However, Ken's warmth is still there, and so Chikusa is still there too. He doesn't know how long it takes, but soon enough his breathing goes back to normal. Swallowing thickly, he looks up into those bright eyes again. "Ken... While we're out here... What if someone finds out about everything?" Biting his lip, he glances back into the street and lowers his voice more. "About how we live on our own? Kids aren't supposed to live without their parents. What if they take us to an orphanage?" Something worse occurs to him. Swallowing, Chikusa digs his fingers against Ken's hand. "What if the Overseers take us?"  
  
As though burned, Ken recoils. "I don't wanna!"   
  
"Then _promise_ me. Promise me that we'll act good while we're away from home. Okay?"  
  
While Ken's nod is slow, it isn't reluctant, and Chikusa finds himself relaxing. "I promise." With that said, Ken looks into the street and Chikusa follows his gaze. The lapping of waves against the earth is not too far off, even if neither of them can see it, but they don't need to. For all the chaotic symphony of noises, they're attuned to water now. If Chikusa had to guess, he'd point to the large sprawling building taking up most of the street. A tower rises up from behind it, and the words _The Hounds Pit Pub_ are written above its many windows. As he's looking, Ken shuffles in place. "Hey Kakipii.... What are we gonna _do_ now that we're out here?"  
  
It's only taken him long enough to ask. Chikusa glances up and down the street. "Do you know where we are?"  
  
"Oh, yeah! My family used to go through here all the time. It's the Old Port District."  
  
"And, um... Is there a place or something where you can go sell things? Like, little things?"  
  
"What, like, a pawnshop?" Ken quirks his head to the side, quick and sharp. "Why do you wanna go to a place like that? It's not like I brought any stuff to sell... Not that we have anything to sell either way." His tongue swipes across his lips. Chikusa could swear it brushes the bottom of his nose. "All our stuff is kinda junky. I mean, we could go back to get some stuff, but we probably wouldn't get a lot for it. And pawnshops don't accept fish.... I think."   
  
"It's not important. Is there one around?"  
  
"I think.... Probably? I'm pretty sure there is." Scratching behind his ear, Ken glances around. His gaze looks past all the people filling the street and hurrying out of buildings, focusing on the buildings themselves. "It's been a long time. I'm probably gonna have to look around and stuff." Chikusa doesn't think, just squeezes down. In turn, Ken doesn't say anything, he simply squeezes back before pulling him along. "Well, it's not like we got anything to do anyway! C'mon, Kakipii."  
  
It's a good thing that even after all this time, Ken is still used to the busy city streets. Letting him take the wheel in this venture is for the best because all Chikusa can do is _stare_. On one hand, the stone buildings of Dunwall don't seem so monstrous when they're offset by streets filled to bursting with people. Even before it had become a ruined mess, Chikusa doesn't think he had ever seen the streets of his home district filled with so many bodies. However, in exchange for all of this, it's _suffocating_ to be in the throng itself. Bodies press in from all sides, chatter and a sea of footsteps deafen him- if not for Ken, he'd be frozen to the spot at it all. Yet his best friend doesn't seem to have a single hint of difficulty. He slips around and inbetween people flawlessly, agile as the hagfish of their flooded home twisting through wreckage. When Chikusa can stop being overwhelmed, he's admiring instead. They've kept up with each other back home, but in this.... He feels outclassed, only able to watch and be carried along.   
  
So lost in thought, he misses when Ken comes to a stop and stumbles against him. "Ow, hey!" comes the grumble, although Ken only sounds half upset as they straighten up together. "Anyway, this is it." He points up at the building in front of him. Compared to every other building that's on the street, the pawnshop doesn't particularly stand out to Chikusa's eye. Like a few other businesses he vaguely recalls seeing in his daze, large windows make up the majority of the storefront. Past the grimy glass, a few items have been set up in display: a mannequin trying on a worn suit, a broad woman's sunhat missing some decorations, a variety of lamps that had lost their shine.... or maybe that was merely all the dirt and salt which have made the window panes their home.  
  
Everything is still so distant; Chikusa doesn't even realize he's been kneading at Ken's hand until he looks down by coincidence. Maybe Ken can tell that something is wrong, because he moves again until they're right up at the windows where the worst of the human tide can pass them by. Shamelessly, he presses his nose literally up against the glass.   
  
Funny how _that_ is the thing that helps snap Chikusa out of it. "Ken, stop it, that's gross."  
  
"There's so much junk in there!" he exclaims, ignoring Chikusa completely. "There's even more stuff than what _we_ got back home!"  
  
"How can you even tell?" Doing his best not to touch the glass, Chikusa steps closer as well to peer deeper inside. Ken isn't lying, really. Even in the gloom, behind the window displays, there's the feeling of clutter that starts up an itch in the back of his skull. All the details are lost to gloom and window dirt. Nervously, he licks at his lips.   
  
"You can just tell! Stupid Kakipii." Ken's gaze flickers over to him curiously. "...Are we gonna go inside?"  
  
"Yeah."   
  
"They're just gonna kick us out 'cuz we're dirt poor and stuff."   
  
"No they won't." For all his bold words, however, Chikusa doesn't make a move inside. Everything is still too much. So he stands there and tries his best to focus on Ken: the warmth of his hands, the well worn callouses that cover every inch of his palm, a beat he thinks might be either Ken's heart or his own. From there, he moves to his hand. Then up to his wrist, through his arm, his chest and the thud of his heart and the pressure of his lungs... Chikusa remembers his body again. It probably takes a few minutes although he's not keeping track of the time so much as how Ken starts to fidget and twitch impatiently. Taking a breath, Chikusa tugs him along. "Come on. Let's go in."  
  
What meager calm he's gathered doesn't really help him from jolting at the ringing which sounds off above their heads when they open the door. Across the room, a man with a face full of lines (scars or wrinkles, Chikusa can't tell) emerges from some mysterious back room to take up station at the counter. It's hard to say who is carting the more suspicious look: the man who squints as if he can see straight through them so long as he does it hard enough or Ken who has his "authority is dumb and piss on it" expression set in full stubborn glory. If they mess around for too long, he's _absolutely_ going to get into a fight with the pawnshop person. Fear of that has Chikusa hurry them up to the counter. All he wants is for this to be over and done with.   
  
"No dallyin' about," the man grumbles, eyeing both of them still with clear distrust.   
  
Ken already has his mouth half open, ready to shoot something out, so Chikusa hastily stutters out, "We have something to sell!" Caught by surprise, Ken goes silent, and that's enough time for Chikusa to pull out a glimmering silver ring out from his pocket.  
  
Blatant suspicion fills every single line of the man's face as he plucks the ring from Chikusa's outstretched hand. So much distrust in a single face- if each line were a soldier, he'd have enough for an army. Anxiously, he watches as the ring is held up to what meager light shines through in careful inspection. Anxiety is swapped out for bewilderment as the man then bites into it. What? Before Chikusa can even think to ask about _why_ \- although he's far too quiet to actually do it- the man places the ring down on the counter.   
  
"Ten coin for it."  
  
Chikusa jolts. "What?" comes out of his mouth, soft and unsure, drowned out by Ken's shout of "You're cheatin' us!"  
  
"I ain't cheatin' anybody. I'm just not trustin' a pair of little thieves-"   
  
"Kakipii _ain't_ a thief, you take that back-"  
  
"It's worth more than that!" Chikusa says, hand shaking in Ken's as he's forced to raise his voice. "I _know_ it's worth more than that." In the back of his head, he's thinking _it has to be_ but he doesn't say that. Something about the whole situation has him feel that being too honest would be a mistake.   
  
The outburst doesn't seem to impress the pawnbroker. All he does is cross his arms, gaze piercing through them just like he'd stared at the ring. Besides Chikusa, Ken feels as though the only thing holding him back from leaping over the counter and starting a fight is _literally_ Chikusa's hand in his. It's scary how he can feel the adrenaline making him shake. Finally, the pawnbroker snorts. "Twenty five coin, then, and if you try to start anythin' more over it, I'll get the City Guard in here and I bet _they'll_ figure out if yer thieves or not."  
  
A sabre and the thick scent of alcohol hanging heavy in the air- Chikusa remembers it clear as anything. All the remembered terror strikes straight through him, and he's nodding before Ken can ruin anything. "Okay!" he agrees, voice tight and breaking. It's not okay. Not really. But Chikusa doesn't dare voice that thought. All he can do is wait until the coins have been counted out onto the counter. Without hesitation, he grabs them and runs. As they hurry out of the pawn shop, he can see Ken making faces over their shoulders. The sun is blinding compared to the gloom inside; it leaves Chikusa half blind in his attempts to go back the way they first came.   
  
Behind him, he can hear Ken snarling and grumbling. "If it weren't for the Watch, I bet he wouldn't be _half_ as much of a jerk, I woulda been able to take him, I bet he doesn't even know how to fight, just knows how to steal money out of people, and he calls _us_ thieves! He's a dirty, no good-"  
  
Chikusa is only half paying him mind. All he focuses on is finding a stoop to collapse in, curling in on himself with the coin digging into his palms. Immediately, Ken is down besides him.  
  
Only a minute or two passes before Ken breaks the silence between them, curiosity bubbling over what little restraint he has. "Hey, Kakipii, where _did_ you get that ring?" How like Ken. He has no idea where it was gotten, but he was still ready to haul himself over a counter to punch an adult because he'd accused Chikusa of theft. Licking his lips as his heart calms down, he finally starts to count the coins in his hand.   
  
"It's from the jewelry box," he mutters, low, but he knows that Ken has heard it because he can see him jerk upright from the corner of his eye.   
  
"Wait- your _ma's_ jewelry box?"  
  
"Yeah." Relieved that they were given the money the man at least said he'd give them, Chikusa tucks them into a pouch and into his pocket. When he looks up at Ken, the other boy seems to be struggling with his words- brow scrunched up and mouth moving noiselessly.   
  
"But... It's your ma's jewelry," he finally manages weakly, clearly not knowing what else to say. "You're _always_ fussing over that for when she'd come back. Always!"  
  
It's not even an exaggeration. More nights than Chikusa has bothered to keep track of have involved him carefully shifting through the glimmering gold and shining silver, making sure not a single ring of necklace is missing. As though anyone would be so subtle as to only steal only one of those out of everything else in their little attic home. Silly, but Chikusa has made it a habit. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Chikusa wraps his arms around them. "If she wanted it back," he mutters into his pants, "then she would have come back for it by now. She would have sent someone. She hasn't. So... It's mine now. I've _inherited_ it. That means I can do whatever I want with it. So if I want to sell stuff from it, I can." Frowning, he burrows his face against his legs. "....Didn't get a lot from it..."   
  
Ken's warmth presses down against his side. "That guy was a cock! Next time, I'll find a different pawnbroker, a _nicer_ one, and we'll get more money!"  
  
Chikusa hopes so. He's not sure how much 25 coin will really get them. Still, he guesses there's one way to find out. Peeking away from his legs, he asks, "How do we get back to where we came from?"  
  
"Oh, that's easy, c'mon." Ken takes his hand again, and off they dive into the waves of people once more. This time, Chikusa tries to focus in on himself and pay attention to the streets. There's still too many _people_ , towering over him and Ken, but occasionally he gets a glimpse of a notable shop front or a street name. Soon- sooner than Chikusa expected- they're back at the little side street leading back home. He tugs Ken to a stop before he can go down it, leading him instead across the street where the pub stands. Ken cranes his head back, squinting at the name emblazoned over the doors. "Why are we comin' here?"  
  
"Why do you think?" He doesn't give Ken a chance to answer, pushing open the door and tentatively stepping inside. Like the pawnshop, the pub is dimly lit, but the difference is in how _comforting_ it feels. Warm glass lets sunlight filter through in relaxing colors, and what seems like a skylight from behind the bar highlights it as well as any beacon. It's nowhere near as full as the streets outside, to Chikusa's surprise. Only a couple of the booths are filled from what he can see at the entranceway, and a handful of burly men are scattered along the bar stools.   
  
As him and Ken stand there, a woman from behind the bar wearing an apron tied tight around her waist takes notice of them. The deep lines on her brow ease up as she comes over, stopping before them and leaning down a bit. "Alright, you two, looking for your pa over at the bar?"  
  
Is that a regular thing? Chikusa wonders on it, even as he shakes his head. "We... we wanted to eat here."  
  
"Well, sorry kid, but we can't serve you on your own without your ma or pa in here with you. Watch doesn't want kids your age anywhere near the booze."  
  
"But-!" He glances to Ken, who can't seem to decide if he wants to frown in confusion at Chikusa or glare defiantly at the woman. All it's doing is making him look mostly constipated. Biting his lip, Chikusa looks up at her again. "What if... we didn't eat _in_ here, but outside, somewhere? Would it be alright then? Please? We have money..."  
  
Straightening up with her hands on her hips, the woman glances down at them and Chikusa can't make heads or tails of her expression. Not knowing is _worse_ then any actual glare. At least with a glare, he can prepare himself. Right now, all he can do is wait, and Chikusa can feel his heart start to freeze up from its place in his chest. She's going to refuse. She's going to say no and he'll feel bad for making Ken do all this dragging him around and- "Ah, fine. I guess it can't hurt. C'mon, you two can sit in the back. Just don't cause any trouble." With that, she turns around, gesturing fluidly with one hand for them to follow after her. Feeling dazed, Chikusa moves along with Ken and barely remembers to look around to see what the menu for this place even is.   
  
To the back of the pub, through a door and down a tiny hall, and they come out to the small stretch of land that makes up the area behind the pub. It's the most open area Chikusa thinks he's ever seen, and there's actual dirt instead of stone or concrete. Right ahead of them is the sea, its connection to the pub taking the form of a tiny little dock. To the right is a large building with a tower and far to the left lies some sort of warehouse. Chikusa thinks he can hear the sound of dogs.  
  
The woman gestures to the dirt right besides the door, and Chikusa drags Ken over to obediently sit down. As Ken sprawls his legs out and leans against the wall, Chikusa tucks his beneath his body and looks up to her as she starts to speak. "So any idea of what you two want to eat, or do you need me to tell you the menu?"  
  
"I know." Chikusa folds his hands together on his lap, forcing himself not to fidget. "There's... grilled whale, right?"   
  
One of her eyebrows quirk up. "Sure is. But that's fifteen coin, you know."  
  
"We have it! And we'll split one." Going through his pockets, he carefully counts out the proper amount with Ken leaning against his shoulder watching. Once he's certain he's got the right amount of coins, he holds it up to her almost pleadingly. Her hand is warm and calloused as she picks the coins out from his palm, counting them out herself before nodding.   
  
"I guess you do," she admits, tucking the coin into a pouch on her apron. "Alright, you two stay _right_ there, got it? I'll bring it out to you in a bit." Leaving the back door open, she disappears back inside, and Chikusa lets out a breath that feels like he's been holding it for years. All he wants to do is sit there, letting feeling reach his brain again, but then Ken is nudging his shoulder with his chin.   
  
"Hey, Kakipii?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Ken's nose scrunches up. "I thought you'd want to save that money and stuff... But that's, what, half of it gone?"  
  
"I thought about it.... But, it seems important to spend it soon, especially while the weather is still nice..."   
  
"How come?"  
  
"Ken, don't you know what day it's going to be soon...?" A blank look in response. Chikusa sighs. "It's going to be your birthday."   
  
So close, it's easy to see how Ken's eyes widen and feel the tremor that shakes through his body. He's expecting _some_ sort of wiggle session, but not the way Ken flings himself against his body excitedly. Chikusa warbles out a noise of surprise, throwing his hands out to catch him before he hits the ground. He can barely acknowledge what's happened before Ken pushes away to dash off into the rest of the yard. Befuddled, Chikusa can only stare after him as his best friend goes tearing through dirt and meager sprouts of grass with the occasional kick or punch in the air. He has no idea _where_ he can get so much energy, not with the food they usually eat, and not for... well. He's not sure how long Ken runs around, almost falling off the concrete dock more than once, but it's long enough. A throat clears itself to his right, and Chikusa glances up into the eyes of the server woman from before.   
  
"I thought I said to sit right there?" she says, fortunately looking more amused than annoyed.   
  
"...He's really excited for whale?" Chikusa offers, wondering if he sounds as confused as he feels.  
  
"Well, he should get excited back over here. If the hounds keep hearing him, they're going to excited and one might break out."   
  
Chikusa jolts in place, immediately cupping his hands around his mouth. "KEN! Get back here!"   
  
Thankfully, the lure of food is always the most successful thing in getting Ken's attention. Soon enough, he's back by Chikusa's side watching as he carefully splits the whale meat into two even parts. In the open air, the bustle of people now comforting background noise instead of a tidal wave, it feels... _nice_ to sit there and eat with Ken. They keep exchanging smiles with each other, Ken's full of food at any given time, but Chikusa doesn't mind. He can't get himself to. Even when the plate is cleaned off, all they do is sit there with each other as boats drift by in the distance. Ken rests his head against Chikusa's shoulder at some point, loose and relaxed, and he nuzzles back into that sunshine warmed hair. So nice... Chikusa thinks they could probably stay there forever, so long as they were quiet and didn't bother the server woman. At least, he wants to do that. In the moment, it seems like the perfect thing to do.  
  
But that sort of thing isn't possible. Chikusa knows tht. So, after maybe an hour of staying there quietly, he nudges Ken with his shoulder. "We gotta go home now," he tells him over the sound of Ken's yawn. "If we take too long, it'll get dark."  
  
"Wanted to sleep a little longer..."  
  
"You can sleep when we get home."   
  
Reluctantly, Ken lets himself be pulled up, and the pair of them duck back into the pub. The server woman is still working, and she shoos them away with an idle flap of her hand when Chikusa nods his head politely to her. They stop at the door, peering out, and he can feel Ken perk up at his side. Across the road, a certain familiar pair of uniformed figures have exited their little side street. With bated breath, they watch until the Watch guards disappear into the crowd- far away from their way home. Without wasting anytime, they hurry out and duck around traffic. When they make it down the side street with no one shouting after them, Chikusa lets out a breath.   
  
Now it's a clear way to home.   
  
That's what Chikusa thinks for around ten minutes as the pair of them idly walk down the street, their joined hands swinging. Soon, however, Ken frowns and glances over their shoulders. Immediately, his eyes narrow and his lips curl up past over his teeth, which is all Chikusa needs to look behind them too. There's _people_ a distance away behind them- _following_ them. As him and Ken come to a stop, he realizes that it's their footsteps that Ken must have heard echoing through the street. There's no fearsome blue apparent even from this distance and, as they get closer, Chikusa realizes that they're not adults. They're _teenagers_ , a trio, with an arrogant and unworried swagger in their walk. If not for the alarm bells going off in his mind and the desertion of the abandoned street in comparison to the busting road they were just on not that long ago, Chikusa would almost think they were here by coincidence.  
  
"Who're you!?" Ken snaps out, once they're close enough to hear. He's all tension and barely contained fight; Chikusa can feel the adrenaline thrumming through his hand.   
  
One of the teenagers coolly raises an eyebrow down at them, rolling something in his mouth with such noisy chews that it makes Chikusa twitch. Dirt is smeared along his hands and stains the cuffs of his shirt, something he can see as he watches the teenager inspects his nails that are as grimy as the rest of him. Distantly, he thinks he remembers actions like these. It's the same sort of gestures he'd see some people make in his father's office while talking about important business. The words had always gone over his head, but his father had never seemed particularly impressed. Now that the same gesture is being used against him, Chikusa thinks he can guess why. "Now, that any way ta talk ta yer betters, small fry?"  
  
"I've met hagfish crap that's-"   
  
Chikusa tugs Ken back, his lips drawn thin and his hands shaking. "What do you want?" he asks instead, since he doubts they'll get names out of these guys and, really, does it matter anyway?   
  
"Just wanted to ask a few questions, four eyes."   
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like where ya got that bit of silver ya sold to that guy at the pawnshop."   
  
Both of them go tense. Ken's nails, always too overgrown, dig into the back of Chikusa's knuckles. "Ain't none of your business," Ken says stubbornly, baring his teeth and sticking his tongue out between them. "So shove off!"   
  
"What'd I say about talkin' ta yer betters? Ya want me ta get yer skinny little friend there and make an example outta him?"  
  
"Don't you threaten him-!!" Ken tears out of Chikusa's grip before he can stop him, flinging his whole body straight into the older boy's kneecaps. His heart leaps into his throat as he watches the two of them go slamming into the ground- no one is _actually_ prepared for how much of his body Ken is 100% ready to throw at others. Even the two other teenagers can only gape in shock. However, it doesn't take long before one of them realizes that their leader is yelling and Ken has bitten past the skin. All eyes are off of Chikusa as Ken is torn from trying to tear out someone's throat with his teeth. "Lemme go, I'm going to kill you-!!" But they're all empty threats as one of the other teenagers lifts him up off his feet with his arms pinned.   
  
Wiping at his face and scowling, the lead-teenager gets up to his feet. "Ya damn little shit, I'm gonna make ya _regret_ that-"  
  
A palm sized rock sails straight into his right eye.   
  
He stumbles back at clutching at his face and swearing, leaving his friends to stare in shock at the gash which has been cut over his eyebrow. This leaves plenty of time for Chikusa to chuck another rock at the vulnerable head of the person holding up Ken. There's not a lot to do when you live in Rudshore anymore, even with what him and Ken have salvaged. Sometimes, all you have to do to pass the time is throwing things at other things: rocks, wood, bones, fish heads.   
  
Chikusa has gotten really good at it.   
  
His rock hits the older boy's temple dead on.   
  
He stumbles to the side, grip loosening, and it's enough for Ken to swing his leg in a vicious kick back to make him drop him completely. Landing in a crouch, he darts to the side quicker than a hare. The last teenager who tries to lung at him doesn't have a hope. After that, Chikusa can't tell _what_ is going on, only that it's a blur of movement and his ears ache from all the swearing. His fingers are curled uncertainly around another rock, but he doesn't need to worry. From the chaos, Ken bursts out with dirt on his face and what looks like blood smeared on the corner of his mouth. There's no time to ascertain if it's _Ken's_ blood or not; the blond grabs his hand and jerks him away. Swears and threats echo throughout the empty street, but Chikusa doesn't look back. His gaze stays focused to wherever Ken is leading them, and his grip stays locked around Ken's hand.   
  
All too soon, however, the storming of feet behind them makes it known that this isn't just an escape but a _chase_. What a blessing it is that they've lived here in this ruin of a district for so long. There's no need for them to falter, unsure, at where to go. Even on the dryer parts of land, they've memorized every bit of Rudshore's fallen glory and engraved it onto their hearts. The streets, the routes over water, all of it- Chikusa doesn't have to think about it. Not with Ken at the helm. All he has to do is pump his legs as fast as he can, heart pounding in his ears. When Ken pulls him to a familiar building with a busted window, he doesn't think twice. Automatically, he lets go of Ken's hand so that the other can leap up and haul himself through the window before offering his own hand to help Chikusa up. He tumbles inside at Ken's pull, barely aware of the hand swiping at his pants leg. They're right behind them- scrambling to his feet, Chikusa takes Ken's hand again as they rush through the first floor rooms and up the stairs. The sound of glass breaking follows them.  
  
Up the stairs, twist around, race down the hallway- there, a window with a splintered mess of wood acting as a bridge. Chikusa and Ken nearly fly over it, stopping only to jerk it back onto the floor. He can already tell it's not going to work even as they dash through the building to the opposite side. Their short legs couldn't make that jump, but the longer legs of those other boys, they won't have any problem at all. The thought beats through his mind in time with his frantic heart and the pounding of his feet. Another window, another leap, another building that their frantic feet carry them through. Repeat once, repeat again, again, again, until Ken is hissing at him, "This way!" Chikusa follows, even when Ken leads him down onto the fist floor and water laps at their ankles. In sync, the pair of them splash through the first floor searching, and it's him who tugs Ken into one room in particular. Everything that could be picked up and carried out obviously has been, leaving it a place devoid of most hiding spots... save for the large fireplace whose contents can't be seen from the doorway. They're skinny and small enough to squeeze into the space, heads and knees bumping. Uncomfortable, but safe.   
  
Hopefully.   
  
Somewhere in the distance, weak wood creaks, and Chikusa holds his breath sharply. House settling. It's the house settling. But he doesn't really believe that, and he can tell Ken doesn't either when the other boy curls his fingers by his chest. Now that they're so close, he can see specks of crimson under and along his nails.   
  
Heavy thuds from the floor above steal his mind away from such thoughts, and Chikusa jolts against Ken. Two more heavy thuds follow it. For all that him and Ken stay utterly silent, it's impossible to tell anything other than the general area that the footsteps are coming from. All they can do is sit, silent and still and hoping. For who knows how long, they stay together like that. Muffled words bound off the walls above the ceiling, indistinct. The only thing that becomes clear is when the stairs creak and Chikusa finds his eyes stinging with frustrated, frightened tears.   
  
_Why_? Why can't they be left alone, why can't those guys leave, why is the sound of footsteps going down the stairs? Chikusa's thoughts race helplessly. They can't have searched each building before this so thoroughly, right? What about this place is different? Did they drop something? In other rooms, water splashes as bodies lumber through and there's indistinct angered muttering that Chikusa is too out of sorts to comprehend. Across from him, Ken is tense and waiting, ready for anything-   
  
"HEY!" They jolt, but the voice isn't from inside the room with them. It's right outside, so far as Chikusa can tell, and its owner continues on. "Are ya with those brats that tore through here?!"  
  
"Mmm~?" A low relaxed voice rolls out and Chikusa exchanges a surprised glance with Ken. Confirming their silent suspicions, the voice keeps going. "Now what makes you think I know anything about that?" With actual words, there's no doubt about it. That's a _child's_ voice, like him or Ken. Not a teenager like the other boys, and definitely not an adult for all the voice's cool confidence.   
  
"What- are ya mocking me ya piece of garbage!? Come here-" Chikusa's heart leaps in his throat at the sound of angered splashes moving past their door, expecting shouts and violence and the guilty thought of _at least it's not us_ \-   
  
But the scream that reverberates through the doorway from the hall isn't the one he expects.   
  
More splashes from presumably the other two boys, concerned and enraged shouts, a chaotic clamor of noise, yet past it all Chikusa can still hear that voice _hiss_ , all venom. "Who said you could _touch_ me?"   
  
He's never heard a voice like that, never realized people could _sound_ like that. For all that they're crouching in water, icy coldness sinking past their pants, Chikusa's mouth goes dry. Ken is the same, from what Chikusa can tell, with even his sun-kissed skin having gone pale and his eyes wide. He doesn't shrug off Chikusa when he reaches over to cling to his shirt, pressing close against him as the yelling and the splashing keeps going. Soon, however, the sounds grow distant and soon become the stomping of many feet upstairs. They're still yelling- Chikusa can't quite make out what. Eventually the footsteps are gone completely. Together, they hold their breath, and that lets them hear the only sound left in the empty building: a soft panting and a steady drip down into the water.   
  
After a minute of only those two sounds, the person who's been left behind starts to move. Ken and Chikusa listen as it only goes a short distance before the voice speaks from the doorway. "You're around here, right?" The relaxed lilt is back in full force, no venom and all confidence. "I heard you earlier, before those boys came. It's fine. I don't care about hurting you."   
  
Uncertainty is flickering through Ken's eyes, and Chikusa doesn't doubt that the look on his face is just as bad. Still, what other choice do they have? They can't stay in the fireplace _forever_. Ken bursts out first, knee banging into Chikusa's legs and his fingers curved into ready claws as he draws himself up. Chikusa is slower, save for the quick look he makes around the fireplace before getting up to his feet. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, so they wait at his side in the form of uncertain fists.   
  
Chikusa was right. It _is_ a boy standing there at the doorway, shoulders loose and a knife held between relaxed but bloody fingers. Pink smears are along one cheek, a half hearted attempt at cleaning the blood, and it's strangely enough _not_ the most striking thing about him. That would be his eyes, one a deep dark blue and the other a surprising brown-ish sort of color. At least, Chikusa thinks it's brown. It's hard to tell in the dim lighting. As they look over him, the boy looks over them too before he reaches up with his free hand to brush black hair away from his face.   
  
"Oh," he says in easy going surprise, "you're the same age as me."   
  
"So what?" Ken snaps, frame quietly vibrating with nervous energy. In contrast, Chikusa shrinks behind him with his gaze constantly flicking down to that blade. As he watches, a drop of blood trembles at the very tip before plopping down into the water.   
  
"Oh, it's nothing, I guess." Completely unconcerned, the other boy crouches down in the water and swishes the knife through it. Ripples of pink leave the blade. "I shouldn't be surprised. Those louts that fled here _were_ talking about a pair of kids. No wonder they thought I was with you. So what did you do?" Straightening up and flicking water off of the blade lazily, he sweeps his eyes over them. His sharp gaze lingers on Ken and a knowing little grin settles on his face. "Bite them?"  
  
Ken jolts straighter; Chikusa doesn't need to see it to know that he's wearing a look of amazement. "How'd you know!?"  
  
Sighing, Chikusa nudges Ken back with his knuckles. "There's still blood on your mouth, Ken..."   
  
While Ken's ears start to turn a brilliant shade of pink, the other boy laughs. It's so carefree and _normal_. If not for the blood still drying on his skin and the knife in his hand, Chikusa would never think he'd be capable of chasing off three teenagers twice his size. "It _was_ a little telltale." Canting his head to the side, he hums. "Why did you do it?"  
  
Straightening up, Ken squares his shoulders. "They deserved it," is all he says, like that explains anything.   
  
At least the answer seems to please the strange boy because he laughs again. "Definitely," he agrees, despite not knowing anything of the situation. "What are your names?"   
  
Chikusa licks his lips. Should they tell? This is the first time anyone's ever asked. But then, what can it hurt? Before his mind has a chance to decide which way it wants to lean, Ken goes ahead and answers bluntly, "I'm Ken."   
  
Well. That decides that. Chikusa steps forward, still lingering a little bit behind his best friend. "I'm Chikusa."   
  
"Chikusa? _That_ sounds foreign." Chikusa jerks his shoulders up defensively, but the boy is already turning around and shrugs nonchalantly. "Then again, my name is foreign too. _I'm_ Mukuro." There's a certain focus to the way he says the name, pride coating it as he rolls it off his tongue, and he turns to walk away from them down the hall.  
  
They take a split second to look at each other before, without a second thought, they splash into the hall after him. Mukuro is ducking into another room by the time they make it, and they follow with their hands linked again. Chikusa thinks the room they come into might have been an office of some sort at one point in time. Of course, the only reason he thinks that is because of a single desk that's been left behind for who knows how long. A small bag is settled there, and Mukuro joins it as he hops up to sit on the desk regardless of the agonized creak that's dragged out.   
  
"How com you're around here?" Ken asks, not waiting for the other boy to say anything. " _Nobody_ comes into Rudshore anymore. 'Cuz it's messed up."  
  
"Shouldn't I ask you that too?" A laugh bubbles out of him as he puts the knife away in his bag. "You're the ones who ran into the flooded district yourselves! And you didn't stop or seemed confused at all about where you were going."   
  
Mouth scrunched up, Ken ducks his head and glances over at Chikusa from the corner of his eyes. He can tell what's being asked of him, although he doesn't like being put on the spot so suddenly like this. Should they tell anything to him? On one hand... He took a knife to older boys and even _chased them off_ with apparently little difficulty. That's scary. On the other hand.. Chikusa would be lying if he said he's not a little envious or admiring of something like that. Even now, swinging his legs, Mukuro seems confident and at ease. It's nothing like how Chikusa was after _he_ hurt someone. Besides, if he wanted to hurt them by now, he would have done it, right?  
  
After a few seconds of heavy thought, Chikusa finally answers. "We live here. We've always lived here."  
  
"Even though it's all flooded?" At Chikusa's nod, Mukuro hums and kicks his legs through the air some more. "I came here because I heard it was abandoned and I thought it would be good to find a home here."  
  
Well, that's some backwards logic if Chikusa has ever heard any. His brow wrinkles. "Why?"  
  
"My mother said it was time for me to find a place to live on my own." That explains approximately nothing, but neither of them have a chance to press. Balancing his elbows on his knees, Mukuro leans forward and looks over them curiously. "Where do you live? Can I live there too?"  
  
"Uh-" Crap, Ken is looking at him too for an answer. After a moment of inner floundering, Chikusa starts to pull him out of the room. "We have to discuss it." There. That sounds mature and adult like. After he's guided Ken far enough down the hall (he thinks, anyway), Chikusa bites his lip and looks at his best friend. "What do we do?"  
  
Scratching the back of his ear, Ken sticks his tongue out the corner of his mouth. "Well, he chased off those jerks from before, so I like him!"   
  
Of course. It'd be too much to ask for that Ken be as worried as he is, or think things through as much as he does. Holding back his sigh, Chikusa frowns. "What if he tries to hurt us? Or steal our things?"  
  
"...Do you think he would?"  
  
"He might. I mean.... We don't know him. He could do anything. Right?"  
  
"I guess... But Kakipii, I wouldn't let anybody hurt you!"  
  
"I know," Chikusa says, because that's really the only response one can make after watching Ken fling his whole body at people twice his size, repeatedly, for even voicing a threat. "But.... We still need to be careful." Going quiet, he loses himself in his thoughts as his thumb rubs along Ken's clammy skin. At the same time, if the other boy really _isn't_ interested in hurting them... It'd be really handy to have someone so scary around in case anymore bad things happen. Chikusa wants to keep going into Dunwall proper, but that means anything could happen. They could be ganged up at any time. Having one more set of hands, one more pair of eyes... "Maybe... If we kept the door to our room locked, and made him stay in a room far away from it... That'd be okay. And we can figure out if he's alright to be around."   
  
Ken nods and agrees, because of course he does, and Mukuro himself seems quite pleased with the arrangement of having a room chosen for him. It takes the rest of the day to carefully make their way through Rudshore, but that's nothing new to Chikusa and Ken. What _is_ new is having a third person along, and Mukuro isn't exactly _quiet_. He hums, most of the time, and comments a whole lot on all sorts of things: how run down Rudshore is now, how the different paths through the windows are made, hagfish that flick along the surface. It's only when Ken announces loudly that they're back does he fall quiet. In a way, that's stranger than his talking as they all wade through the water of the second floor and go up to the third. The room furthest from Chikusa and Ken's room is a bathroom, but it works well enough after they drag in a mattress from one of the other rooms. "It'll do fine," Mukuro says glibly, plopping down on it with his bag resting in the sink. "I like it."  
  
"That's good," is the only answer Chikusa can think to give, polite habits still hard pressed to die no matter how long it's been. "I guess we'll see you in the morning, then. Good night." Despite his words, Chikusa still makes sure to cover the keyhole in his parents' room and shoves things under the door crack. He can't be too careful. He has to look out for Ken.   
  
At the end of the night, when the ladder is pulled up carefully and the ceiling door locked, Ken shows him he's not the only one thinking for once. As he reaches for the oil lamp to turn it off, Chikusa pauses at the pressure along him. "What are you doing?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. Ken wiggles his back against Chikusa's side harder.   
  
"Watching!"  
  
"Ken, you need to go to sleep..."  
  
"And I will! But this way if anybody comes up the ladder, I'll know first." Looking back at him, Ken shoots of a wide grin that lights up the dark of the attic more than the oil lamp could ever hope to. He doesn't need to say anything else. Chikusa can read the message in his smile clear as day: _I'll always protect you_. That, more than anything, is what helps him drift off to sleep so easily. He doesn't know how much their lives will change if at all from the inclusion of another person in their home...  
  
But so long as Ken is with him, Chikusa will be alright. It's not even a question.


	4. pockets full of stones

Morning comes, neither of them have had their throats slit in their sleep, and, Chikusa thinks, he's had enough excitement for the week. Perhaps the rest of the month, even. All Ken needs to do is take one look at him to see the exhaustion in his eyes despite sleeping the entire night through before he announces that they'll be back to scavenging in Rudshore some more. Frankly, Chikusa isn't even sure that he has enough energy for _that_ \- he feels strangely lethargic, head filled with fog and fluff. Yet he's never been one to deny Ken anything, so he lets his best friend take the lead today and follows his nudges to change into another set of clothes. So out of it, he almost forgets the new addition to their rundown household up until he nearly crashes into Ken's back when the other boy abruptly comes to a stop.   
  
Mukuro is in one of the rooms, window wide open and his feet lazily swinging through the air.   
  
"You get up early," he says breezily, not even glancing back at them. "I think the sun has only just started to come up."  
  
Around Chikusa's hand, Ken's fingers knead into him for stability. "We gotta," he answers matter of factly, more bold than Chikusa suspects he really feels. "There's a lot to do, y'know!"   
  
"Are you going back into the city again?"  
  
Another glance back to Chikusa, taking in the tired tilt of his head and heavy curve of his spine. "We still have stuff to go through here," Ken says, giving his hand a squeeze until Chikusa squeezes back.   
  
Before they can say anything else or Ken can lead him away, Mukuro wiggles off of the window ledge and hops back down onto the floor. With the light streaming back onto him and cleaned of any blood, he looks almost normal, now. There's still that smile on his face, calm and relaxed as anything, saying he knows everything they don't. "Well, can I come along too? I want to see the rest of the flooded district."   
  
'Flooded District', now, not Rudshore anymore. Well, Chikusa guesses that makes sense. 'Rudshore' sounds like a place people live in, and no one does that anymore. Not besides him and Ken.   
  
The second Ken looks to him, he knows what he has to do, and Chikusa heaves out a breath and an answer. "If you want, I guess..." It's for the better anyway. If Mukuro is with them, then that means they won't have to worry about him poking at things they don't want him to, or somehow finding his way into their space in the attic. "Just be careful.... There are a lot of things in Rudshore that aren't sturdy anymore."   
  
Mukuro look amused by the warning, but he nods anyway as he walks over to settle on Ken's other side- not like the blond would let him get any closer as evidenced by the way he bristles in deterrence. "Don't worry, I know how to make my way around dangerous places."  
  
It's not all talk, either. As they make their way through Rudshore, through crumbling territory that is becoming more and more familiar with each passing day for the two of them, Mukuro keeps pace just fine. He has Ken's reflexes, leaping easily across gaps between buildings tucked close, and he has Chikusa's eyes, pointing out the growing colonies of River Krusts and unsteady floors. Really, by the time they're poking about the Refinery just to see if anything was left behind in the rush, Chikusa is left wondering just what the other boy is doing with a pair like them. However, even as he thinks it, it's Ken who voices it, throwing rocks around the corner at a solitary River Krust.   
  
"Where'd _you_ come from, anyway?" He ducks as acidic spit goes through the air, splashing into the ankle-high water that surrounds them. Chikusa eyes it suspiciously, using a plank he'd picked up nearby to poke the thick glob away from them. "Was she that much of a bitch?"  
  
"Ken," Chikusa sighs, disapproving, but Mukuro doesn't seem to mind much at all as he flips some of his hair back and tightens his grip around his knife.  
  
"One letter off," he laughs, peeking carefully around the corner himself, pale fingers fluttering over Ken's shoulder, barely touching him. "My mother was a _witch_."  
  
Ken jerks upright, eyes wide in wonder, and Chikusa presses closer without thinking, amazed and scared both in his silence. "Really!?" his best friend exclaims, no terror of any kind in his voice, because of course there wouldn't be. There are a million things in the world to be frightened of, and Ken isn't scared of even a teaspoon of them. "Do you know magic!? Can you curse people, is that what you did to those guys that were chasing us!?"  
  
Like with anyone meeting Ken for the first time, the sheer _amount_ of his exuberance seems to blow Mukuro back, eyebrows raised as he leans away in reaction to the blond's gleefully interrogative lean forward. It only takes him a second for him to adjust, however, holding himself tall and preening. "I might," he purrs, twirling the knife between his fingers now, metal gleaming as it catches the light. "That's really why she was so insistent I leave, if I'm honest. It'd be _embarrassing_ , after all, if a witch's _son_ usurped her."   
  
"Could you have?" Ken asks, eager, fingers twining around Chikusa's in response to the other's crowding. His voice is a hushed whisper. "Could you really have beaten a witch?"  
  
The question sparks a fire in Mukuro's mismatched eyes and, before either of them can stop him, he's whirling around the corner. Yelling- Ken in excitement, Chikusa alarm- the two of them trip through the water to watch as Mukuro dodges the Krust's vile spit like an owl gliding flawlessly through the dark knight, twisting around it in a heartbeat on light feet. The River Krust's shell is still open, not quick enough to shut, when Mukuro drives his knife straight into its vulnerable insides and gives an almost malicious twist. A noise, a gurgle, and Chikusa stares with wide eyes as it goes slack.   
  
Not finished just yet, Mukuro fearlessly thrusts his hand inside and, with a grunt, tugs out a pearl that cradles easily in the palm of his hand and shines just as brightly as his knife did in the sunlight. "I," he announces, rosy cheeked and bright eyed, "can beat _anything_."  
  
Whooping, Ken races over to Mukuro, and Chikusa nearly slips in his haste to follow after. "That was awesome!! I want to do that!"   
  
"Ken, you aren't allowed to do that!" Still shaky from secondhand adrenaline, Chikusa comes to a stop in front of the dead Krust and, thus, Mukuro himself. This close, it's easy to see not only the way the other boy's face is flushed from exertion, but how that bright red stands out all the harder against skin that's become horribly pale. Even as Mukuro shifts his hands behind his back, shifting his balance to one leg and looking coy, Chikusa thinks he can spot a slight shake to them. He doesn't say anything, however, watching as Ken remains oblivious and enamored.   
  
"Show me how to take out River Krusts like that!"   
  
"Ken..."   
  
"Well," Mukuro hums, tilting his head back and glancing down at them from the meager bit of height he has over them from his perch of rubbish, " _I_ can do it because I was raised by witches. But _maybe_ I could find the time to teach you how to do things like that..." Ken whoops, spinning in the water and sending it flying everywhere. While Chikusa blocks it wearily with one hand, Mukuro hops down and passes him by. "But for now..." And he slips the pearl into his hand, winking to the bespectacled boy without missing a step. "I can definitely tell you about all sorts of other things I learned about before my mother couldn't stand me to stay near her."   
  
"Tell me all of them!" Ken demands eagerly twisting after him. With Chikusa still blinking in confused shock, Ken takes advantage of the fact and tugs him along gleefully. "C'mon, Kakipii!"   
  
In a twist that's not surprising at all, indulging Ken's ravenous curiosity and excitement takes up the entire day, but Mukuro welcomes his constant focus even as the three of them dig through Rudshore's ruins some more. Even more than that- he _basks_ in the attention, balancing on exposed beams and hopping across gaping holes in wooden floors. For all that the day is supposed to be more relaxed, Chikusa ends up having to do more damage control than anything in restraining Ken's eagerness to mimic their new bit of company. Everything passes by in a blur and, by the time they return home, he's honestly and genuinely befuddled that they managed to find enough things for the three of them at all. When they finally return, Chikusa sinks down onto the floor of his room and stares dully at the cooling sky outside his window. In the room not far off, he thinks he can hear Ken scurrying to fetch one of the lamps that they've hoarded in the past months. At least there's one good thing: being in Rudshore means there's always whale oil to go after. No one has even tried to come and forage the remains, at least not that he's ever seen or heard about. He supposes it would all be too much wasted effort for not a lot of gain for anyone who isn't living like him and Ken.  
  
From the corner of his eye, he sees a bit of movement, and watches as Mukuro comes further into the room. Loathe as he is to do anything else today besides eat and go to sleep, Chikusa forces his body into sitting upright a little more so that he can watch the other boy further. They'd all agreed to eat supper together, sure, but.... he still can't help his caution. He doesn't want to, either, not when he has to keep an eye on Ken and make sure his best friend stays alright.   
  
Mukuro is a lot more subdued away from Ken's exuberance, eyes reflecting strangely in the fading light as he settles down on the floor not too far away from him, and his smile is back to be a little more relaxed and knowing. "Did he wear you out that easily?" he asks, sounding faintly amused.   
  
Brows drawing together, Chikusa thins his lips. "You were both really exhausting, yeah," he says, not inclined to let him slither away from the responsibility. To his credit, at least Mukuro gives a shrug that's almost apologetic.   
  
"I thought the pearl would make up for it all," he says glibly. "Don't you like it?"  
  
"A pearl isn't going to do anything for me..."   
  
That's not really true, and they both know it. However, Mukuro says nothing to argue against the statement, only glances over him again and hums. "I can see how the two of you have been living here if you're so practical," he says, still smiling. "You must be prepared for all sorts of things."  
  
Faintly, Chikusa thinks of not only various sorted piles up in the attic but of blood on his hands and his fingers slick around a knife. "I guess," he answers quietly. It doesn't seem to be an answer that Mukuro can really work with, and the rest of their time is spent in silence with both of them simply watching each other carefully until Ken returns with a lamp in one hand and a can opener in the other. A meager dinner is split between the three of them, Mukuro amuses Ken with more stories of witches and wildness, and, eventually, they all go to sleep again much like they had the night before.   
  
And life goes on.   
  
Mukuro makes life a little bit easier, in the passing days, just by virtue of having another set of eyes and hands available. He seems fine with just getting used to life in Rudshore, and shows no intention of moving on to find a place of his own although there are certainly plenty of places that he could find, surely. Sometimes he disappears, going off to who knows where, and Chikusa thinks that will be the last of him- but no. Inevitably, before the sun disappears, he's back again. Chikusa keeps an eye on him just in case, for whenever he distracts Ken with stories, and is resigned to this intrusion in their life.   
  
So is how their life is, until the day a hagfish thrashes out of Ken's grip and its gaping jaws dig through his cheek and goes jittering over the bridge of his nose.  
  
Jerking back with a sharp swear, Ken drops the thing, but Chikusa doesn't even see how the fish flops viciously against the floorboards. Everything in him is focused on the blood streaming down Ken's face, and he shouts in alarm, at his best friend's side in a heartbeat. "Ken!"   
  
"Outsider's stupid crusty asshole-!"   
  
Any other day, Chikusa would berate him for the language. He can't spare a single thought for it right now, instead grabbing Ken's hand and jerking him away from the hagfish still flopping on the ground and onto his old bed. Mukuro is already taking care of it regardless, knife going straight into the creature with practiced timing, although Chikusa is only aware of his actions in the faintest of ways. Right now, he's focusing on pressing the sheets up against the wound on Ken's face. It spreads so _quickly_ , a growing stain of crimson that stands out against fading white, and he can barely hear his own panicked breathing over Ken's whimpering.   
  
"Ken-" He swallows down air, forces his mind to think. He's read about this. He's seen diagrams and listened to maids gossip about injuries drunkard husbands had gotten while at the bars. This can be fixed. Chikusa reminds himself of that. _This can be fixed._ "Ken, just press down with the sheet, okay? Keep this here, even if it stings. Got it?" All he needs is Ken's reluctant nod before he leaps off of the bed, rushing to their room. Mukuro is still awake, still around, but Chikusa doesn't care as he tugs down the ladder to the attic. Beneath all the things they've accumulated throughout the months, it's a chore he has no patience for to find some of their medical supplies, but he does, breathless all the while.   
  
Ken is right where he left him, and the fish has been left to bleed out while pinned to the carpet in favor of Mukuro joining him on the bed. He peers with interest at the soaked-through sheet the blond is still obediently holding up, although he doesn't mess with it himself. Taking in a deep shuddering breath and feeling a thousand miles away, buzzing in his ears, Chikusa settles down on Ken's other side. Biting his lip, he gently pushes Ken's hand away. The wound is no longer gushing out blood, although it's still dripping slowly down onto his shirt. Another deep breath. He can't feel his fingers again, even as he's watching them gently begin the process of rinsing the wound with a small flask of water. "It'll be okay, Ken," he hears, past all the buzzing and his own beating heart.   
  
"Hurts," he grumbles, but it's all he says, falling utterly quiet and his eyes focused straight on him. Chikusa ignores it, patting the wet space dry with what of the sheet isn't soaked through with red, and then carefully applies some salve. Distantly, he's reminded of sweeter times, leaning over in his father's office and applying a salve to a much tinier inconsequential wound on Ken's face.   
  
If only things were so simple and small like then.  
  
By the time he finishes, he's wrapped bandages clumsily but securely around Ken's head to cover the wound, and he squirms in clear discomfort just from their presence. "Don't pick at them," Chikusa warns him firmly, swatting at his hands. "You can't mess with that at all, okay, Ken? Now stay here."   
  
Immediately, Ken jerks up, eyes sharp. "What, why, where are you going?" All that seems to soothe him is Chikusa's hand settling over his.   
  
"One of us has to cook dinner, Ken... You need to recover, okay? You _have_ to get better."   
  
While he scrunches up his mouth, Ken doesn't disagree. Instead, he flips his hand up, slotting his fingers neatly inbetween Chikusa's. "Okay, but come back, got it, Kakipii?" Bright brown eyes meet his head on. "Come back." It's an order, a plea woven quietly around each syllable, and Chikusa can't say he's oblivious to what Ken means. For all that he squeezes Ken's hand back, for all that he gets up to his feet instead of sitting on the bed, he can't really feel any of it. The world is distant and, if not for a single person in it, inconsequential.   
  
That includes Mukuro, a ghost who trails after Chikusa to the fireplace in the room next over to his parents', although his helpfulness and preparing the fish for cooking is definitely useful. It doesn't really matter until Chikusa feels like he's come a little more into himself, like the fire is reigniting his ability to feel, and suddenly he's _exhausted_. This always happens when he "leaves", his body and all his emotions quietly sinking him down to the bottom from the weight of it all. It's not an experience he likes, but it's one he's resigned himself to.   
  
As he's fighting weariness, eyes focused dully on the roasting fish, Mukuro finally speaks up. "That was really clever of you." Blinking into awareness, Chikusa glances over to him. Those mismatched eyes are focused on him almost as intensely as Ken's had been only moments before. "Knowing how to take care of him like that, I mean. Has he gotten into a lot of scrapes like that before?"  
  
Shaking his head, Chikusa murmurs, "No.... Not really... We're usually careful enough..."  
  
"Then how did you know what to do?"  
  
Mukuro is leaning a little more forward, now, and there's something about the intensity in his gaze that makes Chikusa shy. It's silly, honestly, because he's been with Ken for _years_ now, and Ken burns as bright as the summer sun. But... that seems different than Mukuro's brand of intensity. Ducking his head, he shrugs. "I've read things. My father had books in the library, so... I read."  
  
"Aren't those kind of books really hard?"  
  
A minute nod. "I had to look things up a lot." Carefully, he glances up again, and is almost startled by how close Mukuro is to him... and how the other boy is nodding in blatant approval.   
  
"You must be really smart, then. Ken is lucky that you're with him all the time."  
  
Heat blossoms across Chikusa's face, hotter than the flames licking at the fish, and he focuses hard on them like that will make up for what Mukuro is saying to him. "It doesn't matter how smart I am if we don't have a lot of things to wrap around his face," he says, not sure how to handle the compliment and thus ignoring it. "We don't find things like that a lot... Not in Rudshore, at least, not anymore."   
  
"Oh? Does that means you're going to go back into the city, then?"  
  
Chikusa falls silent. That's.... what he _should_ do. That's what he needs to do, in fact. If Rudshore is devoid of the kind of supplies they need, then the only logical choice is to go into the rest of Dunwall. Yet when he thinks about it... the towering buildings, the throngs of people sweeping him away like the tide....   
  
That, he knows he could stomach, if only for Ken's sake and not a single other living soul in the world. But then he thinks of the sneering pawnshop owner, and the bitter twist of alcohol hanging around the City Watch, and Chikusa feels sick to his stomach. Those kinds of things, he can't face them on his own. He simply _can't_. Merely thinking about it makes him want to pull back again, to 'leave' despite his assurance to Ken. Honestly, he's not sure how it doesn't happen. Finally remembering Mukuro is there, that he has to answer him, Chikusa nods slowly. "I'll have to sell things to get enough supplies." His teeth catch on his lower lip. "But.... it's hard." Even with Ken at his side, all protective violence, they weren't able to get nearly as much as he had hoped from selling his mother's ring.   
  
An amused noise from Mukuro finally draws Chikusa's gaze back to him, and he flips his hair back casually. "Because of how stingy the shopkeeps are?" he asks, and seems smug when a nod is the answer. "Well, you don't have to worry about that. I know all _sorts_ of tricks which will make them give you more money for things."   
  
"...Really?"  
  
"Mhm." Reaching for the long forks which keep the fish in the fire, Mukuro carefully starts to remove it. "It's not hard, once you know how to talk to people. A lot of them are the same." And, casually, "I learned that from witches too."   
  
Chikusa doesn't pay it any mind. He just leans forward to help with the fish, casting uncertain but tentatively hopeful glances at him. "And they really work? The tricks that will make them pay more for things?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Then..." This is new territory, something he's never had to do before, but it _needs_ to be done. So, Chikusa takes a quiet breath as they start to cut the fish up. "Will you come with me into Dunwall tomorrow, then?"  
  
From the corner of his eye, he can see Mukuro's lips curl in a satisfied smile. "Of course."  
  
"Let me go with you!" Ken says when Chikusa tells him of the plan the next morning, predictable as the sun. "I want to go into the city!"   
  
"No." Chikusa squares his shoulders and sets his jaw, going stern like he remembers his father doing. "You're still hurt, Ken. Anyway, you'd just draw attention to yourself, because everybody would look at you with bloody bandages on your face." And they _are_ bloody, spots of red showing through the white and only growing with every passing hour. Anxiety strangles Chikusa's lungs whenever he notices. "We'll be back, we won't leave.... So just... stay, okay? We'll come back."  
  
Tension and dissatisfaction are writ all over Ken's face, eyes dark and mouth twisted, and Chikusa thinks for a second that he'll have to argue with his best friend even more. After a moment, however, he reaches over to tightly grip his fingers. "Promise."  
  
"I promise. We'll come back. We're just going to get more bandages and things like that."   
  
With that, Ken reluctantly lets go of his hand. "You better."  
  
"I will." Promise made, he turns back to the doorway where Mukuro is patiently waiting, and, together, they set out for Dunwall.   
  
Just like in Rudshore, Mukuro is clever and quick as he looks out for any of the City Watch, and he slips into the crowds on the street like a hagfish through water. Chikusa doesn't dare hold his hand; this isn't Ken. Instead, he has to fight and struggle to stay right behind him so that they don't become separated. Although it's not as bad as the time when him and Ken had gone out together, it's still overwhelming, and all Chikusa can do to combat it without his anchor nearby is to focus directly on Mukuro's back.   
  
The unfortunate drawback of this is that he doesn't pay a single bit of attention to where they're actually going, and his mouth goes dry when he realizes this, eyes landing on unfamiliar shop names and streets. Mukuro has stopped just a little ways from him, glancing up at one shop in particular, and hums when Chikusa steps close. "You could always hold my hand if you'd like," he drawls, but it sounds almost mocking, in a way, and Chikusa shakes his head.   
  
He'll be fine. He'll be strong. For Ken, he has to be.   
  
"Have you been here before?" he asks, investigating the shop through the window. It's a little cleaner than the first one he went to, he has to admit. A good sign? Clean people care, at least, if only about their appearances.   
  
"Not at all," Mukuro answers glibly, stepping besides him. "But I'd heard about it before I went to the flooded district, and it doesn't sound that bad. Anyway, did you bring what you wanted to sell?"  
  
Nodding, Chikusa lays his hands onto the bag he has slung over his shoulder. "A pearl, a necklace, and a ring," he tells him quietly. It's his worse case scenario: if they still can't get a lot no matter what tricks Mukuro knows, then he'll gladly sell more just to make enough to buy what they need.  
  
Mukuro falls quiet himself, thinking with what looks like considerable care to Chikusa's eyes. "Then what we'll want to do.... is that we'll find someone to regularly sell things like the pearl to. That's easy to get away with, after all, because boys like us usually are used to get pearls from River Krusts, right?"   
  
Chikusa shrugs rigidly, not sure of what to say. This sounds like something Ken would know, but not him. He never questioned where the pearls of his mother's necklaces came from, only that she had them. Even his curiosity didn't venture everywhere, let alone something like that.   
  
Fortunately, it doesn't look like Mukuro is really interested in an actual response, because he keeps on talking. "For things like jewelry, it'll be a little harder." His eyes flick to Chikusa, a smile playing on his lips. "And it gets attention like those thugs, I bet." As Chikusa thins his lips, unable to deny that, Mukuro continues, "we'll have to go around the city every time we want to sell something, at least until it's been long enough that you'll have probably been forgotten by some." Idly, he waves his hand through the air. "But we can worry about that in the future. For now, we'll just have to go to another shop after we sell something here."  
  
"....So the pearl or the jewelry first...?"   
  
Narrowing his eyes, Mukuro taps his chin before nodding. "Pearl. It should be simple enough." Having decided, he starts to ooze confident satisfaction again, and there's that grin once more directed at Chikusa. "So you want to learn tricks to get the most money for your things, right?" A nod as an answer, and he grins wider. "Start high. Don't let _them_ decide the starting price. Make them bring you down to something you still want and that's more acceptable for them. It makes them think they've done well."  
  
Blinking, Chikusa goes over the idea. That... makes sense, now that he thinks about it, although he's not sure how confident he is about doing it himself. "Won't they see through what we're trying to do?"  
  
Another careless handwave. "When it's children, or women, they won't think they're clever enough for that," he explains. "Anyway, you should go first."  
  
His heart freezes in his chest. "What?"  
  
"You should go for a hundred coin to start with," Mukuro continues, about to say something else before he trails off to inspect Chikusa carefully. "It's not _that_ hard," he adds.   
  
Chikusa sort of wants to snap at him, to tell him that of _course_ Mukuro wouldn't find it difficult- not when he's so confident and dangerous and knows what he's doing. All he does instead is thin his lips. "Then why don't you do it?"  
  
"It's more believable if it's someone like you. You _look_ proper and like you won't do anything." Well. He guesses he can't argue with that, not with his upbringing and how adults had praised him for being a quiet and polite child. Still, he must seem uncertain, because Mukuro says, "I'll be right there with you, of course. Nothing will go wrong then."  
  
That's not really the reassurance he wants, not the _person_ he wants, but Chikusa will take what he can get. After glancing at him to make sure that Mukuro won't just ditch him, he ducks inside the pawnshop. It's a lot cleaner than the first one him and Ken went to, the floor clearly having been swept not that long ago and shelves organized neatly. There's a man behind the counter, broad shouldered and missing what looks like a chunk of his cheek. At least, that's what it looks like to Chikusa, although he'll admit that there's a beard in the way so he can't be sure. While physically he seems more intimidating, he doesn't have the same aggression as the other pawnshop owner when he looks up to the see the two boys. Instead, there's just a raise of his eyebrow. "You boys lost?"  
  
Chikusa shakes his head and glances to Mukuro, but he's not really paying attention to the conversation or the clerk. He's simply curiously browsing the things on the nearest shelves. Glancing back, swallowing thickly, Chikusa forces himself a few steps forward. "No, but.... We'd like to sell something."   
  
Putting down the pocket watch he'd apparently been going over before the two of them stepped inside, the man rests his arms on the counter and gestures them closer with a few twitches of his finger. "Not filched, is it?" Chikusa shakes his head from side to side, hard, hair flopping all over. "Alright, alright, calm down. Whatcha got, then?"  
  
Reaching into his bag, his fingers find the smooth curve of the pearl and he pulls it out, clutched in his palm until he can show it with his fingers slowly unfurling. "It's a pearl.... We got it from a River Krust." A lot more interest sparks in the clerk's eyes and he leans a little more forward to get a better look at it. Chikusa keeps his hand up, although warily- it feels like it would be too easy for an adult to just snatch the pearl out of his hand. For a second, he almost forgets to speak, but then he remembers Mukuro's advice and hastily says, "Could we get 100 coin for it?"  
  
The man snorts, although it's not with any particular malice. Just incredulity. "You aren't giving me solid gold, kid. I know Krust pearls are tough ta get out of 'em, but just one's not worth that much. Especially one like that." Tapping his fingers against the wood, he considers for a moment before giving a different offer. "25 coin. Not bad, innit? Could get ya somethin' nice for your mum with that." When Chikusa balks, he sighs. "30, even, maybe, after I've had a look at it to make sure you're not pulling at my leg."   
  
Chikusa glances back at Mukuro, trying to see what he thinks if anything, and he's finally looking back to the proceedings at hand. However, there's nothing in his expression that's really helpful, and Chikusa looks up at the clerk once more. "Are you sure we couldn't get more?" he asks, feeling a little faint as if the air is too hot to breathe. "It's not small.... So it could go for a pretty high price, right?" Words are lodging in his throat, threatening to choke him, and Chikusa isn't entirely sure how he gets them out. "What if it was 70?"  
  
"They don't go that high, kid," the clerk says, although Chikusa wonders how true that is. "Maybe 40, and that's me being generous."  
  
"50!" Mukuro finally speaks up from besides Chikusa, arms crossed and his eyes eternally bright. "That's already half what he wanted, so it wouldn't be fair to go any lower. C'mon, Mister!"   
  
Heaving out a sigh, the clerk holds out one thick calloused hand. "We'll see once I take a look at this pearl," he says grudgingly. "Check if it's really fifty coin like you two seem to think." Worried but desperate, Chikusa quietly drops the coin in his palm and fairly clings to the counter as the man starts to inspect it. This means using a lot of different little tools, although the main one seems to be looking at it with something that seems to function like a tiny little scope of some sort. It must only take a few minutes, logically, but time drags on in Chikusa's mind. The weight of it all only leaves him when the man finally pulls the scope away and looks reluctantly impressed as he gives his verdict. "Well, it looks like you boys got lucky.... In more ways than one, since it looks like you both still got your eyes." The pearl clicks gently as he places it down onto the counter. "Fine- 50 coin."  
  
All the worry and adrenaline in him is rushed out with the breath he releases, and leaves in its wake a shakiness in him, one that threatens to unmoor him from his own skull, but he still manages out a quiet, "Thank you."  
  
"Mm." As he starts to count out the coins on the counter, he asks, "You two plan on getting any more pearls out of them River Krusts?"  
  
Chikusa isn't sure if he can answer, or if he could supply something that affirms one answer or the other. Thankfully, it looks like Mukuro has gotten tired of being quiet. "We might," he says glibly, like he didn't shake after taking care of the River Krust responsible for their current gain. "Why?"  
  
"Well, if you ever get some more pearls without getting their spit all over you, maybe come back again." He slides the coins across the counter, where Chikusa dutifully and silently begins to put them into his bag. "I know a few people who wouldn't mind seeing some more of these."   
  
"Well, I guess we'll let you know then," Mukuro says, obviously pleased, but Chikusa is already shuffling back out to the door, and Mukuro's footsteps soon join him not too far behind. Once they're out in the fresh air again and down the street a little, he laughs triumphantly. "See? I told you it was easy." He glances to him, only to pause as he looks at Chikusa.  
  
At least, Chikusa thinks he's looking at him. That might not be real. _Nothing_ feels real. It's like he's dreaming, or underwater, weightless and strange and he can't feel anything again. Not even the strap of his bag, although he knows that his fingers are wrapped around it and that it's digging into his shoulder. A kind of buzzing is going on in the very deepest parts of his ears, and.... Is Mukuro talking? He's saying something, but the buzzing is louder now, drowning it out, and it seems so much more distant....   
  
Chikusa nods, even though he can't hear the words he's agreeing to. He doesn't want to seem weak, even though he is, here on his own without Ken there to steady him. As he tries to remember to just keep moving forward, Mukuro moves more into view, and reaches down to take his hand. Chikusa lets him pull him along and doesn't even try to ask where they're going; what would the use be? He simply retreats into his own head as Mukuro pulls his body along, simultaneously aware of everything while also not seeing any of it. At some point, they sit down. At some point, he closes his eyes.   
  
It's not sleep, and yet, when he opens them again, the sun is so much further along in the sky than he remembers it to have been. His messenger bag is still around his shoulders, the weight of it nestled on his lap with his fingers curled over it, and, most surprising of all, Mukuro is besides him. They're on the steps that lead to a small little side street off of the main one, with the hum of the crowd bustling behind them (and when did that replace the buzzing in his ears?) Elbows digging into his knees, Mukuro has his hands pressed together and fingers tapping at his lips. It takes him a few seconds before he happens to glance at Chikusa and stirs. "Oh? Are you feeling better now?"  
  
He's feeling a little exhausted, actually, as if someone took his brain from his skull and tossed it around a little before letting it ooze back into its proper place. Instead of saying that, Chikusa nods again, but this time he manages to get some words out as well. "How long has it been?"   
  
"Mmm.... A few hours I suppose," Mukuro muses, and only seems faintly amused when Chikusa gives a jolt. "There's no need to worry, you know."   
  
"But Ken! We need to get everything for him!"   
  
"I don't think you were in the right place to be getting anything for anyone, honestly." As Chikusa flinches, Mukuro continues to talk. "But we still have the whole day, and those bandages should hold just fine." That's a fairly optimistic view, considering this is Ken, but he says nothing and allows the other boy keep going. "Anyway, I'll take charge for the next shop. I think you could use the break." There's no argument there, only tired obedience as he follows after Mukuro again when he leads the way through the crowd.  
  
It's easy to do, too. Mukuro doesn't have Ken's complete and utter ease in slipping through the crowds, but he makes up for it in somehow drawing the eye to him, and Chikusa can just follow after the signature spiky ponytail he has with minimal trouble now. As before, he doesn't really pay much mind to where they're going with the world still seeming a little off, but, in no time at all, they're in front of another shop and he's passively handing over his mother's jewelry to Mukuro. Words are said, numbers exchanged, but all he does is stand there.   
  
He's still so tired.   
  
The only thing that stirs him is the cold feel of coin in his hands, and he forges onwards to the general store. Distantly, he's aware that people take to him well, quiet and automatically polite when spoken to, but all he's truly focused on is getting bandages and herbs, along with some other things that he recalls they don't have but really do need. It depletes most of the money they earned, but wasn't that the point, anyway? When he's finally done, bag heavy around his shoulders, Mukuro guides them back again. It's only _then_ that he realizes how long the shadows have gotten, the sky awash with deep maroon and aching orange.   
  
Jerking, he lurches forward to grab Mukuro's hand. "Come on! We have to get back!" Without waiting for a response, he starts to hurry forward and drags him along.   
  
Mukuro's laugh is incredulous. "And now you're getting worked up! You really don't-"   
  
"Come on!"   
  
If there are any City Watch around, they're not lurking by the pub near the street that leads back to Rudshore, and that's the only important thing to Chikusa. By the time they're going down the familiar street, everything is practically _pitch_ , and if it wasn't so simple and he wasn't so familiar with it... He's sure they would be lost.   
  
Except it's not completely pitch, not for long, and Chikusa slows as he sees a light glowing bright in the distance, suddenly wary. Behind him, he hears the faint noise that is Mukuro sliding his knife out of hiding. Maybe it's some homeless person trying to find refuge in what's clearly an abandoned district. Maybe it's looters, late to the party but desperate to dig through and find anything at all, even a coin. Maybe it's nothing at all. There's no need to panic, not yet. Maybe it's nothing. Holding his breath and fingers wrapped as tight as he can manage around his shoulder strap, Chikusa forces himself to step closer and closer until he can see past the glow.   
  
It's not nothing.   
  
It's Ken.   
  
For all that he's the one sitting near the lamp there on the steps, he must have been there for _ages_ glaring into the darkness, because the blond reacts first by leaping up to his feet with a shout. "Kakipii!" He bolts forward, and Chikusa barely has any time to prepare himself before Ken is barreling into him. "You came back!" There's something twisted in his throat, makes it broken like all the wood and stone that makes up Rudshore now, and that finally has Chikusa reaching up to dig his fingers into Ken's arms.   
  
"Ken! You're supposed to be back home- why aren't you in bed!?" As Ken pulls away a little, Chikusa sucks in a sharp breath. The makeshift bandages are still in place, but they're soaked through now, and there's spots where it's clear that at some point Ken had to retie them. He can't tell if it's because he was always bleeding that bad, or that they've gotten worse because Ken was running around all the way from home to _here_. "Your face-"  
  
"You didn't come back!" The ragged _desperation_ in Ken's voice knocks him silent, and his voice might as well be locked away forever when those wide eyes pierce into him. He's _never_ seen Ken this upset. Not even when he had hagfish teeth in his face, which had to hurt more than anything. "It just- it kept getting later, and later, and you didn't come back!"   
  
He didn't come back. Chikusa's throat closes in on itself, like he's being choked. Just like his parents didn't come back, like no one else came back, for either of them.   
  
His fingers dig into Ken's shirt, as if he can tell him with that sole gesture that he'll never leave him alone, not like the rest of the world has. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, aching with the words. "Just- let me fix your face, okay?" Gently, he guides Ken back down to the steps, and begin the long process of peeling bandages from his skin.   
  
As he does so, Mukuro settles down besides Ken, and flicks his ear. "I _told_ you I would bring him back, didn't I?" he says, something which is news to Chikusa, but which Ken doesn't dispute. "We just had to go to a few places, and it took some time." There's no mention of what Chikusa went through, or how he simply 'left', and he's not sure if he's grateful or not.   
  
"How come you had to go to different places?" Ken asks, ignoring when Chikusa tsks at him for moving much when he's trying to clean his face with a flask of fountain water.   
  
"Stop that.... And we couldn't sell everything on one place, so we sold the pearl to one person and the jewelry to another person. And then we had to go find a store for bandages and things. Seriously, Ken, stop moving...."   
  
It doesn't take long before Ken's face is re-bandaged by lamplight, and Chikusa dares to trust Mukuro with keeping him safe and steady while he leads the way back home. It's not something they've done often, traveling through Rudshore in the dark, so he's extra careful as he lights the way, until, finally, they're stepping carefully into familiar wet floor, and going up the stairs to what's become home. By that point, Ken is already uncharacteristically tired again, eyes drooping, and Chikusa herds him to his parents' room where they can stoke the fireplace, and the chill from the broken windows have long since been blocked up with whatever could work. It'll be good for him, he thinks. Especially when he's so weak and tired that Chikusa wouldn't dare have him climb the ladder up to their attic space and risk him falling.   
  
Any other night, and he'd leave it at that, more secure with the knowledge that Mukuro was in another room. This night, however, as the other boy starts to leave, Chikusa hesitates for only a moment before calling out. "Mukuro?" Pausing, he looks back at him. "Do... you want to stay in here tonight with the fire?"   
  
A flicker of a smile. "It'd be warmer," he admits, and soon enough the three of them are nested in a blanket pile. Ken is already asleep, mouth half open and drool trickling out, but the bandages are still clean and white. As he nestles besides him, Chikusa looks over at Mukuro.   
  
"Thank you," he whispers quietly before he squeezes his eyes shut, not sure if he wants to see the reaction.  
  
After that, it's so much easier to be around Mukuro. Ken even eases up a little when he knows that the other boy is at Chikusa's side when they go out into Rudshore, foraging for food or supplies or things to sell. Chikusa has to admit it makes him feel a little better, too. Mukuro has so many ideas and suggestions to offer; all Chikusa has to do is _let_ himself listen to them. Let himself _accept_ them. When he does, it's amazing how much more energy he suddenly finds himself having. All this time, he'd been frittering it away on worrying about Ken, and anxiety on their supplies, and... He's known, for months, that life is so much harder when it's just him and Ken on their own without parents or servants or family to watch over them. It's just that he'd never realized that so much of that exhaustion was from having to _think_. But with Mukuro with them, he doesn't have to shoulder that burden alone.   
  
It's.... nice. And Mukuro is nice, giving him sweet words about how careful and intelligent he is with Ken's wound, praising him for when he thinks of a way to save food or money. By all means, Mukuro is still troublesome in a lot of ways, and tiring, but he manages to keep Ken distracted- which is good, since Ken still needs to stay inside and recover and he'd be driven up the wall _without_ something to keep his attention. Still, even with that, it's a relief when the skin has finally healed enough over the wounds and Ken no longer has to have bandages tied securely around his face. Once again, Chikusa and Ken join together with more than a little relief... but now there's Mukuro there, too.   
  
The only difference is that it no longer feels like he's an outsider.   
  
And, without him feeling like an outsider, it's unbelievable in Chikusa's eyes how much _easier_ things become. Not only foraging throughout Rudshore and backalleys, but when they make it through Dunwall, too. It doesn't look so unusual when it's three boys their age all together, just another pack of kids wandering through the streets, and, after the first few times, Chikusa feels his breath become more natural. Mukuro lets Ken lead them, most of time, because Ken seems to know Dunwall in a way that's almost _instinctual_ , like it's carved into his bones, but soon they fall in tandem with each other. Ken knows the way, Mukuro knows who to go after, and Chikusa knows what they deserve.   
  
It's still not easy, especially with one more mouth to feed, but it's a little bit better.   
  
With anxiety no longer weighing him down, Chikusa realizes that he doesn't mind Mukuro's stories as much, either, and he's glad to curl up with Ken in the blankets by the fire or glow of a lamp as the boy amazes them with witch tales. One night, however, as he finishes gesturing dramatically, he looks down at the two of them with a considering shine to his mismatched eyes.   
  
"You know," he says slowly, "these stories don't _have_ to just be stories. We could do all the things that witches do, if we wanted."  
  
Ken bolts up, bright and intense as the fire before them. "What, how!?" he asks, already eager before he knows the details while Chikusa is a bit more cautious as he pushes himself to his knees. Smiling with the edge of some great secret, Mukuro crouches down and leans close, the action which draws Ken and Chikusa nearer as well without them having to even think twice about it. His voice is quiet but burning as he whispers to them.   
  
"What do you know of the Outsider?"


	5. a bargain must be made

The Outsider is...   
  
A fairy tale, his father told him once. Everyone needs someone to blame, and sometimes that means making someone up. Chikusa had wondered why, then, did his father always seem so eager to welcome the Overseers into their house and speak such nice words to them. As a child, shrinking from those twisted masks, he had thought that perhaps his father had been afraid, too.   
  
The Outsider is...   
  
Lying tongues, restless hands, gazes and feet and minds that go where nothing should and return carrying only ruin. That's what the Overseers themselves would tell him, again and again, until Chikusa could repeat them back verbatim. Can still repeat them. All the dark and cruel things come from the Void, they told him, and it is the Outsider who spreads this corruption into mortal men and women. To stray from hard work and righteous living is to leave an opening into which he can slither in. If he was a good child who followed his strictures and listened to his parents obediently, then he would never have to worry about misfortune falling onto him. Wordless, helpless, Chikusa had always agreed, and that had satisfied the Overseers well enough on their visits. Now that he curls up in a ruined home with hagfish under his feet, he wonders what excuse or blame they would give in response to his circumstances.   
  
The Outsider is...   
  
"All knowing," Mukuro say, breathless and bright eyed. He helps heft Ken up into the window of the building they're breaking into, along the dryer areas of the district. Scavengers and thieves have long since picked these buildings clean but that's alright. For once, none of them are here to take anything. Not exactly. "It's from him that witches get their powers, you know. That's why the Abbey of the Everyman is always so eager to squash out any sort of religion.They think anything that can promise salvation besides them has to be from magic, and all magic comes from the Outsider. Well..." Grunting, he helps Chikusa up too so that the other boy can reach down with one long arm to bring him up in return, and his smile is sharper than any knife he might wield as he sets foot into the empty building. "I guess with that latter part, they're not wrong."   
  
Ken had run off the second he had finished helping Chikusa- off to make sure there really isn't anyone inside the old building. There shouldn't be, but it never hurts to be absolutely sure. That means he has time as he waits in the dark room with Mukuro, the only light being that of the moon filtering dimly in. That doesn't stop the other boy's eyes from shining bright. "What will the Outsider do for us?" he murmurs quietly. Ken's excitement had been too much for him to stop, Mukuro shamelessly encouraging it, and they'd ended up out on the streets before he could really voice any complaint or put a stop to it all.  
  
Amusement flicks through Mukuro's eyes, and he considers Chikusa carefully. It's the kind of look Chikusa can never really read and yet, in contrast, it feels as though it's going straight through him. No one, in his entire life, has ever looked at him the way Mukuro Rokudo has from day one. Even Ken's attention, as warm and intoxicating as sunlight, is more  _on_  him than  _into_  him. Shyly, he shrinks back, and rubs at one arm. "Aren't you tired of being weak?" Mukuro asks him, after he's done observing whatever it was in Chikusa that had gotten his attention so. "You and Ken had to run away and hide from people when I first met you. You have to hide from the guards and the watch every time we want to venture out of the Flooded District, or else they might take you away from each other." Mukuro leans close, impassioned, eyes blazing with some inner fire, and Chikusa is so enraptured that he can't bring himself to draw away. "We don't  _need_  to do that. All we need is to be stronger, and then none of us will have to be scared about anything ever again."   
  
His hand finds Chikusa's, squeezes, and the boy still can't look away from those bright mismatched eyes.   
  
"The Outsider can make us stronger, and all we have to do is find him."  
  
For a moment, Chikusa can't quite breathe, only stare. This goes against everything he's ever been told in his life, ground down into his brain when he'd been trapped in a chair by the blank dark eyes of the Overseers. It goes against even his parents, completely separate from the Abbey, as they'd look disgusted at the latest news of a murder or theft, Inevitably, the blame from their lips would be on desperate fools swindled by bonecharms and things like that.   
  
And yet...   
  
He's already bloodied his hands, put a knife deep into the flesh of a man. He's gone through long abandoned houses, looted their lonely carcasses, and not felt guilt for it. Falsehoods have fallen from his lips, no longer the honest quiet child his parents and strangers and the Overseers had praised him to be. Time has long since passed since the Seven Strictures first crumbled within him, he knows, and yet  _what was the other choice_?  
  
Through his and Ken's Roving Feet, they were able to gather enough food to survive both when they thought they'd have to wait only a while and then when they resigned to being forsaken. Rampant Hunger was a reality they couldn't escape, a choice that had been made  _for_  them, and which had nothing to do with morals. When Ken's life was in danger, Restless Hands were what saved him, and a Lying Tongue is what kept them together because there is no one else who would understand either of them or care for them better than they do for each other.  
  
It is the Outsider who the Abbey has dedicated itself to fighting, and all their Strictures were made with the purpose of fighting his influence. Yet  _why_? It's never a question Chikusa has thought to ask until this moment, with Mukuro's eyes locking him in place. There's a realization lurking on the very edges of his mind, something he's scared to directly look at but already knows. Yet even without looking to that, he knows ones other thing:   
  
The Abbey of the Everyman and its Strictures aren't what's kept him and Ken alive.   
  
Mukuro's eyes don't leave him for a second, waiting, perhaps, for some sort of answer to his words. Before Chikusa can provide one, Ken's voice goes ringing throughout the hall outside the room. "S'all clear! Nobody's in this one!" The sound of his feet pattering down against the wooden floors reaches the two of them before Ken himself does. By that point, Chikusa is already turning towards him and sighing.   
  
"Ken, quieter...."  
  
"Eh, why?" he asks, even as he obediently drops his voice into a whisper.   
  
"Even if the building is empty, people from other ones or outside might hear us..."   
  
"....Oh. Right."   
  
The exchange makes Mukuro laugh quietly as he steps forward, brushing past Ken and out into the hall. "Well, it's a little too late now, so let's just see what we can find, alright?"  
  
As it turns out, what they can find isn't really a lot. Anything of value, whether that which could be sold or that which could be eaten, has been stole away- likely by either the original owners or the other scavengers of the city who have taken advantage of the ruined district. Wood, old clothing, and other various bits of miscellany are all that's to be found, both in the first house and then in the next two they go through. Outsider worship? Nowhere to be found. Still, they take what they can get to keep their home in relatively decent shape, rest for the night, and keep going on with their lives... Just with the newly added night ventures to places outside their flooded territory.   
  
"What do shrines to the Outsider even  _look_  like?" Chikusa asks one night a week into their new schedule. They've just come back from another night run, the three of them lounging on ratty and torn blankets gathered into a pile before the fireplace. The three of them are always a mess when they're like this, each having their own way of being in the blankets. None of them do it like any of the others. Whereas Chikusa keeps his simple, wrapped up with the blankets folded around his shoulders and legs, Ken is a contrast as he practically makes tunnels through the enormous piles they've amassed over the months. Occasionally, from underneath a layer, or between the folds, or poking out from a hole, his bright brown eyes peek out along with a tuft of messy blond hair.  
  
Unlike them, Mukuro barely seems to be affected by the night's chill at all as he instead lounges on his pile as if he's made a throne. His feet are stretched outwards, fire nearly singing the soles. Folding his hands over his stomach, he hums at Chikusa's question. "Purple," he says at last, relaxed as if he didn't take his sweet time. "It's a color associated with the Void, and so it's what's associated with the Outsider, too. So shrines to him will include a lot of purple, whether clothes draped everywhere or paints... I'm certain there's purple lanterns and lights as well."   
  
So he's certain... Chikusa thinks, for a moment, of trembling hands being tucked away out of sight, but says nothing of it. Instead, as Ken pokes his head out somewhere near his thigh, he tries to imagine what it looks like in his head. "Since Outsider worship is condemned by the Abbey, the shrines are probably small... Do they have anything else to identify them? Like... a mark, or something..." Looking into the fire, he starts to space out, just a little bit, and Ken's fingers slip out to pinch his arm. Chikusa glances down at him with a frown, but he doesn't bother to tell him off. "I don't know if the Outsider actually has a mark. I know the Overseers do."   
  
"He does," Mukuro says confidently- well. He already says things confidently, as if he's older than he ever is, but it's  _different_  from his tone before in a way that Chikusa can't quite explain. "It's curved and jagged at the same time- let me show you." Leaning over, he sweeps away some of the blankets cascading onto the floor until bare wood can be seen. Chikusa leans closer as well, Ken's chin digging into his leg, and watches as his finger starts to trace shapes into the wood. Their floors are rarely clean, dust and soot and all manner of things gathering with none of them caring to clean it, and yet it is still difficult for Chikusa to make out the shape Mukuro draws. Something like a line going through the middle, but not quite, and half a circle cut through on the outside, sort of, and a dot within an almost-circle straight in the middle. It's a strange symbol, one Chikusa can't say he's ever seen before, and it feels ancient in some way.   
  
"I like it," says Ken after a moment, loudly and decisively. "It's neat looking." Chikusa ponders telling him off, that he shouldn't like something that's so sacrilegious or dangerous, but... He thinks of his conversation with Mukuro a week ago, in that dim room with the moonlight illuminating them, and thins his lips.   
  
Across from them, Mukuro smiles slightly.   
  
"Of course, it won't be on the shrine itself," he says after they've both gotten a good look at it. "They carve it on runes, instead, and bonecharms of course. They're made from whales."  
  
"Whale bones!?" Ken jerks up in excitement, disrupting some of the tunnels he's made. Wrinkling his nose, Chikusa gently tries to push his messy hair away from his face. "Those are  _huge_. Do they just take a hammer to a big bone and use the shards or something?"  
  
"Whales have smaller bones too, Ken," Chikusa says quietly, faintly remembering a diagram in a book. It's one they don't have anymore, he thinks, lost to the flood long ago, ink bled through and spread dreamily against waterlogged papers. After a second, head tilted barely to the side, he gives a slight nod. "But you could probably break some, and those would work... Would they?" He looks back to Mukuro, curious.   
  
"I've only seen the finished product," he says lazily, which sounds fake to Chikusa, but alright.   
  
Perhaps there's only one way to find out, if that's the case, and his fingers curl lightly alongside Ken's. While the book is a distant thing in his memories, he can remember his and Ken's first foray out into the rest of the city with much more clarity- specifically, the other boy's body curled up against him, both of them with their breaths held as they listened to a pair of guards chatter away while going through the dry streets of the old district. "Then... Maybe we should go to the whaling districts?"  
  
Mukuro cocks his head curiously at him. "Oh?"  
  
There it is again, that intense burning look that goes through him. Chikusa ducks his head away, meeting Ken's eyes instead. "The slaughterhouses can't use all the whale, right?" he asks. "There's the meat for eating, and the oil for everything else... But I haven't really heard about them using bones for anything. Have you?"  
  
Ken's tongue worries at the corner of his mouth as he thinks on the question for maybe a second. "Don't think so. Like. I think some nobles might get the teeth and stuff to display, 'cuz I guess it's fancy, but I've never really heard of anybody else usin' bones for much." Another second as he thinks, and then his shoulders jerk up in a shrug. "Maybe people with no homes use the really big ones instead of wood." Ken's eyes are shining even before he finishes his sentence. "We should do that! It'd look awesome!"   
  
Off to the side, Mukuro laughs until his voice bounces off the walls. "Let's wait on that," Chikusa says, quietly exasperated. "Nothing needs to be fixed anyway, Ken..." Shaking his head, he continues. "What I meant was... If bones are so important to these shrines... Maybe there are places closer to the whalehouses, where it's easier to get them?" He picks at the blankets.  
  
"Or maybe we could get our own bones!" Ken says exuberantly. Under Chikusa's sulky frown, he hastily adds, "To make these runes and charms and stuff! I mean, if we can't find a shrine, we could always make our own, right? Or maybe we gotta do that anyway when we meet him..."  
  
Making bonecharms themselves sounds like a bad idea. Making bonecharms when they don't even know the  _right way_  sounds like an even worse one. Fortunately, Chikusa doesn't have to say anything. Mukuro speaks up first. "Let's not run before we can walk... First, let's see if we can find bones or a shrine."  
  
It's a simple thing, getting to the slaughterhouses. For all that the refinery is in rough shape, battered frame twisted from the things it's been through and metal covered in layers of rust, it still has its connections to Slaughterhouse Row. Together, knives tucked away hidden in their pants and bags shouldered, they head to the refinery. Unlike all their previous searches for shrines, the sun peeks over the buildings as they set out. Wading through the water, Ken makes a sharp scoff.   
  
"Ugh, the stupid acid spitters are already regrowing."  
  
Following the direction of Ken's scowl, Chikusa nods a little. "They do grow fast.... And it's not like it's around where nobles live, so no one cares to keep 'em away."  
  
"Well," Mukuro says breezily as he peers around the corner, watching the tiny smattering of shells swell as if breathing, "it should all work out. If they keep growing around here, then we can keep harvesting them for the pearls."  
  
That sounds like courting misfortune to Chikusa, but he says nothing about it. Instead, he peers into a hole that looks just large enough for the three of them. "I think we can get in through here, c'mon."   
  
Following the pipes over to Slaughterhouse Row isn't exactly easy. What  _is_  easy, however, is telling when they've gotten close. Chikusa had thought that it'd be the same kind of air as the Flooded District: full of salt and fish. Whale slaughterhouses need to be right on the oceanfront out of necessity, after all. Such enormous creatures are too cumbersome to easily take whole across land; best to get it fresh right off of the boat. And yet...   
  
Ken is the first to notice it, chin jerking up as his nostrils flare. "Something smells funny," he announces, right as Chikusa is helping Mukuro down into a window off of the pipe.   
  
"Really," Chikusa grunts, barely paying any mind as he digs his shoes into the rusty metal to not go tumbling over. "S'the rust and copper, probably."   
  
Nostrils twitching, Ken squints his eyes thoughtfully. "Naaah."   
  
Mukuro finally swings down into the open window, and Chikusa is finally able to lean back. Down below, Mukuro looks up at the two of them curiously. "I don't think I smell anything either," he says thoughtfully. "Are you sure there's something weird, Ken?"  
  
"I'm  _sure_ ," the blond protests. "My ma used to say that I could smell a roasting bird from down a busy street!" He looks to Chikusa who is sitting down and still rubbing at his shoulders. "Chikusa, you tell him!"   
  
Getting into an argument about the near mythical status of Ken's nose, or at least how he likes to boast about it, isn't Chikusa's idea of a good time when they have a whole big tiring day ahead of them. So he agrees tiredly, "His nose is pretty good. He usually knew what was cooking for dinner from the highest floor." Of course, Chikusa had always half assumed it was because it was someone in Ken's family who was doing the cooking... "Anyway, c'mon, Ken, help me down in and we'll make sure you can jump through."  
  
Out on the streets proper, however, it's a lot more difficult to miss the heavy scent pervading the air. Nose wrinkling, Chikusa's hand raises up partway to his face. "...It smells weird..."   
  
"That's what  _I_  said!" Ken exclaims, and Mukuro laughs a little bit at his indignation. Standing on the tips of his toes, Ken's nostrils flare out as wide as they can again as he takes in a deep whiff. He even sticks out his tongue as he does so. Rocking back, tongue worrying at the corner of his mouth, Ken thinks carefully on what he's just breathed in and ignores the look on Chikusa's face. "Blood, I think," he finally says. "Blood and oil and junk."  
  
He's not wrong, either. That fact gets more and more obvious the further they go together down the street. It's a cloying scent, almost nauseating, and Chikusa finds himself searching Ken's hand before he really knows what he's doing. He can't help it; his mind isn't in his body or in the street. Somehow, his mind is in a darker place, where his legs are still slowed by waist-high water and he can barely feel his clammy fingers wrapped tight around a knife. Actually, perhaps his mind is even further than that. Perhaps he is trapped deep beneath the flood waters as they rise higher and higher over his head.  
  
Just like then, however, Ken's fingers wrap tight around his, and that warmth pulls him back. He still feels a little adrift, not quite there, but Ken keeps him within view of the shore.   
  
From the side, as always nowadays, Mukuro watches curiously.   
  
Perhaps as a trade-off for being away from his body, everything else is in sharp focus. Chikusa observes the rest of the world from his strange place while Ken guides him along. It's nothing like the busy streets in Dunwall, where they've gone to sell what little they've had to sell. Those practically pulsed with crowds, the city's bloodstream. Yet the streets here aren't empty and hollow, either, in the way that the few dry streets of the Flooded District are. Slaughterhouse Row is  _grimy_  with life, not pale and moist. The men that they occasionally pass, who pay them no real mind, match it perfectly with their flushed faces and dirty clothes. For all that there aren't many other children in the streets, that doesn't seem to be much of a problem. They make their way through unaccosted until...   
  
"I think we've made it," Mukuro says, squinting up ahead. Sure enough, the sound of waves crashing against rock and brick and wood reaches their ears easily. Before them, the street opens up with no more towering buildings blocking the sky. All there is are some wooden fences, blocking the sight of the ocean but not the sounds. As they reach it, peering around the corner earns them the sight of a mammoth of a slaughterhouse rising up across from the many buildings as if separate from the city itself. More men bustle around the area there, some of them with enormous shoulders and lugging around giant chainsaws. Distantly, Chikusa understands he should be afraid, but the feeling can't reach him.   
  
Right next to him, Ken's bristling says he's not having the same luck. Helpfully, Chikusa's arm rises up to point out the fences. "We won't be going right into the slaughterhouse..."  
  
Mukuro gently pushes Chikusa's arm down even as he smiles at Ken. "He's right. If they get rid of bones like Chikusa thinks, then they've probably dumped them somewhere nearby, right?" He takes Ken's other hand, tugging him along. "Come on, let's see if there's anything past that fence. It has to be fenced off for a reason, right?"  
  
As it turns out, for all their work, there's just empty beach and a cliff on the other side of the fence. Peering over the edge on his knees and fingers anchoring him, Ken squints. "There's a pipe down there!" Pushing himself up, he looks at them. "And  _guts_ ," he adds, delighted. "I'm positive of it, and hagfish were tearin' into them. Maybe we can find stuff in the pipe?"  
  
Mukuro's gaze is locked onto Chikusa, as if waiting for something, but Chikusa's gaze is focused straight to the water. When it's clear he won't say anything, Mukuro speaks up himself. "Are you sure you won't just end up falling into the water and ending up lunch yourself?"  
  
"I'd eat them first!"   
  
"That's gross, Ken," Chikusa says quietly. Then as Ken is protesting about being called that, "I could do it."  
  
Mukuro stirs. "Really?"  
  
"...I'm a good climber..."   
  
Despite his lack of trepidation, Ken is fidgeting anxiously at Chikusa's words. "Kakipii..." It's a long whine. Wasn't he the one who was volunteering so fearlessly a second before? Still, it reminds him of something, and he steps away from the edge to Ken's relief. Putting down his pack, he undoes it and starts to pull out a rope- just one more salvaged thing from their many scavenging attempts.   
  
"We have this kind of thing..."   
  
Leaning over his shoulder, Mukuro nods approvingly. "You're always thinking ahead." A beat, no response, and he keeps going, "Then it'll probably be better if you stay up here, Ken. If we're going to hold onto the rope and Chikusa, we'll need someone strong. You're the best here."  
  
The appearance of the rope only barely seems to reassure Ken. Still, fiddling with the end of it, he sticks his tongue out and nods. "We won't let you go, Kakipii."  
  
There's nothing comfortable about winding the rope around his hand, the roughness one thing and the way it cuts off his circulation another. However, he barely cares to notice it as he slowly starts to skid down the side of the cliff. In the back of his head, in that strange floating space, he can't help but marvel at what he's doing. Before the flood, before he lost everything, "everything" enclosed him in a tight little box he could never venture out of. It had been safer, then, that much he has to admit. The Chikusa of then never had to worry about starving, or being chased by a gang. Was the exchange he made for this kind of freedom worth it? He has no idea.   
  
All that matters is that when he looks up, he can still see Ken, holding onto the rope with everything he can.   
  
Even with the rope, he can just barely reach the enormous pipe. It's a fortunate thing that the dirt is sturdy enough for him to climb down and reach the walkways peeking out inside it.   
  
Slaughterhouse Row has a pervasive stink about it that penetrates its very stone. Yet the sewer systems beneath it, even as only the entrance, are ten times worse than that. The force of it stuns him, body swaying back, and he presses his hands over his mouth. Ken was right- there  _are_  guts and things down here in the water. Slaughterfish fins surface through the water, teeth flashing as they dig through intestines and livers bigger than people floating lazily through the water. Belatedly, Chikusa realizes that it's not only bones which most people have no use for. Anything else that isn't pure meat... That too ends up discarded.  
  
With such a mess polluting the water, Chikusa should just get back to Ken and Mukuro. He knows this. Instead, he steps forward tentatively, peering ahead into the rest of the dim tunnel. His way is blocked by metal gates over the cement paths on the sides of the water, making it impossible for people to go any further. Well, not unless they want to jump into the gore-infested water and swim around the barriers. Actually, the metal gates aren't in much better condition. Filth and debris has gathered at their bases, and rats scurry out of it at the sound of his footsteps. It's disgusting, the pile of things that have coalesced together. As he peers into it, something pale catches his attention. Leaning down, he reaches with the very tips of his fingers and starts to tug it out.   
  
Despite the filthy mass he tugs it out from, the item between his fingertips doesn't seem dirtier for it. Sure, it's a little filthy, but not as much as it should be- Chikusa would know all about how dirty things should be after this long. It's a set of bones tied together with thin wire, something scratched delicately into the centerpiece.   
  
"Kakipii!" Ken's voice echoes down from outside. "Kakipii!"   
  
Right... In a daze, Chikusa turns back toward the opening of the pipe and step back towards it. "I'm here." It's not as loud as he'd like it to be, but Ken seems to hear him regardless.   
  
"What'd you find!?"  
  
Leaning outside of the pipe, he carefully digs his free hand into the earth, then his feet, and, with a bit of struggle, gets a hold of the rope without falling into the water. "I'm ready," he calls up to the top, and watches Ken's tuft of blond hair peek over the edge. Shortly after, the rope starts to get pulled up, Chikusa following along with it with his feet digging into the dirt. It's a long arduous process- at least, Chikusa thinks it probably is. All he knows is that one moment time seems as if it's gone completely still, and then the next he's tumbling up over the edge onto solid land. In front of him, Ken and Mukuro fall back as well, the latter giving a small yelp as he hits the ground. For a moment, all three of them just lay there on the ground.   
  
Very politely, Chikusa doesn't mention the sound Mukuro made.   
  
"Find anything?" Ken grunts after a few seconds, still sprawled out on the dirt. A little bit behind him, Mukuro pushes himself up on his hands and tugs his legs out from beneath the other boy.   
  
On his knees now, hands limp in his lap, Chikusa tries to blink back into awareness. "...The slaughterhouse dumps all the guts... and it's in the pipes..." He realizes that he's started to slump, so he rights himself up again. "It was gross."   
  
"That sounds cool!"   
  
"What do you have in your hand?" Mukuro asks, leaning in close. Looking down at his lap, Chikusa slowly unfurls his fingers to reveal the strange trinket, and Mukuro whistles. "There was more than guts in that pipe... That's a bonecharm."   
  
"Really!?"  _That_  makes Ken bolt up, and he quickly crawls on all fours to come closer. So close his nose could practically brush against it, in fact. "Oh yeah.... That's definitely bone. I thought they'd look a lot weirder, but I bet even I could make somethin' like this. S'just wire keepin' stuff stuck together. All we gotta do is find some bone. And scratch those weird symbols in them, I guess..."  
  
"There wasn't any bone down there," Chikusa murmurs quietly. "This was the only thing I found... in a bunch of trash..."  
  
"Still, clearly we're on the right track." Mukuro seems pleased by this, a grin stretched wide across his flushed and sweaty face. "You were right, Chikusa. Even if there aren't any shrines, then people definitely come here to look for whale bones. Let's keep going."  
  
However, there's only so much they can do without getting attention from grown ups. Through the rest of the day, they linger throughout the street, picking out the occasional dropped coin or drifting in and out of the different districts. Eventually, however, evening falls, and the three of them sit on the curb as they watch the slaughterhouse workers trickle out from their shifts.   
  
"I wouldn't mind workin' at a slaughterhouse," Ken muses as they watch men smelling of blood and with heavy bags under their eyes trudge past. "I mean, if we don't find any- y'know." Mukuro and Chikusa's twitching hands relax, not having to slap over his mouth. "It'd be great to just cut stuff up all day."   
  
Chikusa looks at the way the grown ups' faces sag, their shoulders slumping as if burdened by things they can't drop to the ground, and wonders if it would really be that great. It doesn't at all match Ken's brilliant energy, his bright eyes and wide smile. Still, eventually, Chikusa stirs a little and looks down both ends of the street. "...There's not a lot of people now..."  
  
Pushing himself up, Mukuro grins. "Time to see what we can get into."  
  
As night falls, the sun's light a thin ray along the horizon, there are still guards lurking around outside of the slaughterhouse. Yet the shadows are plenty and they're all small and slight. In a way, it's almost like a game, scurrying from one hiding place to another and staying perfectly silent so nothing gives them away. Of course, that's just outside of the slaughterhouse- they don't dare venture inside. Their interests, as from the start, remain on the things outside of it. There are plenty of buildings directly outside the slaughterhouse, miscellaneous offices and sorting warehouses. It takes some doing and a lot of prodding, but throughout the night, they manage to find no shrines... but plenty of bones for their own purposes, most shattered to make for easier transportation.   
  
Chikusa isn't sure how many visits they make to Slaughterhouse Row, exactly, in search of shrines and gathering bones. Dozens of times throughout the months, he supposes, inbetween the usual scavenging and pawning they need to do in order to survive. He wishes he could be more exact, but he can't. Something about Slaughterhouse Row tugs at his mind, memories indistinct and hazy at the worst of times. Fortunately, Ken is ever present, and he makes sure Chikusa gets home at the end of every day or night. Ken also seems to help make sure his mind stays even a little tethered most of the time. It's thanks to that which makes sure he has a front row seat to their search of shrines and bones. While the latter is something that's always in easy supply, the former not so much.... And the same can be said for any bonecharms. That first time was a bit of luck, it seems, because they never find such a thing so easily again.   
  
He's starting to wonder if they'll ever find anything related to the Outsider when, one night on one of their expeditions, they get lucky again.   
  
Mukuro, leading the way out of a window into an alley along the back of the buildings, is the one who spots it, and he jerks a hand up to stop them in their tracks. Hidden away in the darkness of the building, they do, watching him carefully. After a second, his eyes razor focused on whatever he's watching, Mukuro finally lets out a breath and ushers them closer. It only takes a second for them to reach the window, but he's out of it already in that time. He only stays close long enough to whisper, "I saw someone strange creeping down the alleyway." Then, just like that, he's taking off. Ken scrambles out right after him, tugging Chikusa along, and it's a miracle they manage to keep up with Mukuro's swift feet.   
  
The grown up they have in their sights is a shadowy figure, one Chikusa can't quite make out the details of even when it passes by the street lamps lighting up the more open streets. Keeping track of him without being caught is a pain, and eventually it starts to feel as though they're being lead through a labyrinth. Streets, alleys, all dark places that make him dizzy trying to keep track of it.   
  
When they finally reach  _some_  kind of destination, it's a rundown looking apartment of some sort, and the figure disappears into a door on the side. Even 'away' like he is, Chikusa is still the one with the best eyes and ears, so he's ushered to the doorway first. With Ken's constant impatient prods into his spine, his words don't even drift off, and the three of them scurry into the building right on the trail of the stranger.   
  
In a way, although a lot more dry, the building is familiar to so many places in the Flooded District. While it's not a complete mess on the verge of falling apart, it's clearly not a place that's been well taken care of. However, it's because of that familiarity with the dilapidated that they're able to be so silent, and any quiet creaks they make blend in well with the aching wood that naturally comes with such a place. Their hunt takes them down into the basement, where they stick close to the wall as they get down the stairs. If the alleys of Dunwall had been black, then the basement is pitch. The only light which illuminates anything... is a pale purple slit from somewhere in the room.   
  
Gently, Chikusa guides his two friends through the dark space. It's not easy making his way through, eyes adjusting slowly, but he manages.... Somehow. Once they're close enough, Chikusa can see what the stranger has managed to do. Piles of junk have been shoved to the side, revealing a hole in the wall covered with a heavy blanket from the other side. While the blanket manages to hide most of the heavy glow, it doesn't seem to be quite long enough to finish the job.... At least while the junk is moved out of the way.   
  
Being where they are doesn't leave any opportunity for talking, unfortunately... But, guided by the glow beneath the blanket, that doesn't stop the three of them from exchanging a glance and promptly peeking beneath it.  
  
What's surprising to Chikusa isn't that there  _is_  what appears to be a roughshod shrine constructed in the tiny little space beyond the hole, around the size of the abandoned bathrooms in their home. What's surprising, instead, is that Mukuro's description of what one would look like was apparently dead on this entire time. He can see it, fairly clearly, over the bowed head of the stranger who is on his knees as if in prayer before the shrine. A couple of tiny purple lanterns set the glow for the room, and their light reveals the much deeper purple of the fabrics strung out across the walls and from the shrine. Sturdy but roughly treated wood has been nailed and wired together, the framework of something else that has been commandeered for this strange purpose. From behind the flatboard which allows the altar a flat surface, twisted wooden beams stick out- most small shattered pieces, but a couple of them so long that they nearly brush against the ceiling. Despite their state, there's something orderly about how they have been positioned in a sort of v-shape. Somehow, it reminds Chikusa a little of an empty doorway waiting for something to come through.   
  
A silly thought. There's nothing but stone beyond it.   
  
The stranger is muttering words, feverishly but with a strange kind of softness, that Chikusa can't quite make out. Judging by the way Mukuro squints, he probably can't either. After a few seconds, not wanting to tempt fate, they both let the blanket carefully down again and tug Ken back.   
  
So what now? Chikusa asks the question silently with the way he raises his eyebrows over at Mukuro, not wanting to give away their presence. They've found a shrine to the Outsider, but it's occupied. Obviously there's no point in doing anything now. Besides him, Mukuro scrunches up his mouth, eyes glimmering strangely from the purple light as he thinks. After a second, he gestures to where they came from or at least the stairs, and then slips one hand behind the other which is held up flat in Chikusa's direction. Chikusa considers it, brow furrowed, before he slightly curls his fingers with one hand and taps his palm with the other. With an easy smile, Mukuro simply shrugs. Pointing at the hole in the wall with his thumb, he jerks it away to the direction of the stairs. Biting back a sigh that would surely give them away, Chikusa's shoulders slump and he nods.   
  
Before either of them can do anything, however, there's a tug at Chikusa's sleeve. Blinking, he looks to the side and right into the wide confused eyes of Ken. No gestures needed: the blond is completely lost as to what just transpired.   
  
While Mukuro carefully traverses the basement, eyes adjusted and aided by the soft purple glow, Chikusa just as carefully takes Ken back up the stairs to the first floor. There, he explains what he and Mukuro had mimed out to each other: that they'll stay the night in that basement, hidden and out of sight, until the stranger leaves and they're safe to investigate the shrine in more depth.  
  
It's a long, dragging night that goes on. As they curl together behind some crates and boxes that have been left under the stairs, out of sight, Chikusa finds that sleep doesn't come easy. For as long as he can remember, even after the flood, he's always slept in the place he's called home. On the hard stone floor of the basement, scrunched up into a tight space with Mukuro and Ken.... Not only is it uncomfortable on a physical level, but his nerves don't let him find any rest. Every distant squeak, every faint bang or soft scuffle from above, has his heart pound and his breath quietly quicken. They're supposed to sleep in shifts, or at least that was the idea.... But Chikusa can't do it even if he tries. He's awake right along with Ken when there's the sound of debris being moved back in front of the hole, and heavy footsteps hitting the stairs over their heads. Ken doesn't even need to touch him for Chikusa to push himself up, exchanging a glance with the other boy. In sync, their gaze moves down to where Mukuro is slumbering on the floor as content as can be. Wordlessly, they agree not to wake him and instead curl up together to wait out the rest of the night.   
  
It's a relief when, bit by bit, the basement lightens up with sunlight from above.   
  
It takes a little work to move everything away from the hole, and then more work to get something to hide in front of the hole while being inside of it, but they manage eventually. The only downside to that is that the little hole in the wall is a lot darker than the rest of the basement; Chikusa nearly trips over Ken in the small space. It's a blessing when Mukuro finds the lanterns. As that strange purple light fills the room again, things become clearer that weren't so much last night from beneath the awkward viewpoint of beneath the curtain. Curious and careful, the three boys start to poke around the place.   
  
What's of interest to Chikusa is a small crate that's been shoved underneath one side of the makeshift altar, half hidden behind drooping purple cloth. It's filled with all sorts of things that most people would call "junk": wires and clothespins and, of course, shattered pieces of bone. On the other side of the alter, Ken pulls out a similar crate, but much less filled. In exchange for quantity, there's a lot more quality in that particular crate however- a fact Chikusa can tell when Ken pulls out a bonecharm from within it.   
  
And what has Mukuro's attention? Not bonecharms or the things used to make them, but the single solitary item on the altar which isn't a lantern. After nudging the crate back into its place, Chikusa stands up himself to take a look. It's a circular piece of- something, bone, Chikusa feels it must be bone based on the pale washed out coloration that it shares with the charms. Unlike those, however...  
  
It's different. Chikusa can't say much more than that. It simply  _is_ , in a way that looking at the filthy water of the Flooded District is different than looking out into the open seas where ships disappear over the horizon. Mukuro picks it up off of its place, turning it delicately in his hands with that intense gaze of his.   
  
Sooner than Chikusa would have thought, however, he puts it back. "What's in the crates?" he asks the two of them instead, gaze flicking inbetween Ken and Chikusa.   
  
"More bonecharms!" Ken chirps, holding one up with a careless pride. "I think there's like four of 'em inside of here."   
  
Mukuro gives a low quiet whistle, barely noticeable even in the hollow echo of the room. As his attention shifts to Chikusa, the bespectacled boy thins his lips a little even as he looks towards the rune on the altar. "Bones and stuff," he says slowly. "But... I think they were just for making the bone charms. I didn't see any parts that looked like they would help make that kind of thing." Just looking at it makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise up, stiff, and so he glances back up towards Mukuro. "....But it doesn't seem any harder to make besides all the symbols. Maybe he found that from somewhere else?"  
  
"Maybe," Mukuro says slowly, although he seems to accept the idea well enough. "In that case, we'll have to find out where he got it, won't we?"  
  
A low gurgle echoes throughout the room.   
  
Together, the two of them blink and look around before, in time, their gaze land on a guilty looking Ken. Before either of them can say anything, however, another gurgle sounds off, and this time, the blonde can't be blamed. Through the eerie purple glow of the room, a faint mismatched shade starts to spread along Mukuro's cheeks. Sighing, Chikusa rubs at his face. He's come to shore now, but his skull feels full of cotton. A full night without sleep isn't an easy thing to remember.   
  
"I think," he says quietly, "we need to go home first."   
  
So they do. It's not an easy journey back, full of impromptu breakfast theft and a lot of running and more than a little getting lost... But soon enough they're making their way over wobbly wooden bridges between windows and collapsing down onto the blanketed floor of their room.   
  
As much as Mukuro would no doubt like to, there's simply no way that the three of them can devote every single day or night to trailing their new lead to the Outsider. Supplies are things they still need to make sure they never run out of, and the jewelry they have left to pawn isn't infinite. So, in some measure, they continue to live their lives as they always have... just with the occasional shift in schedule when Chikusa is positive that they can waste a day without worry.  
  
On the days they  _can_  afford to spend snooping about and following after their new target, they learn many things bit by bit. While the man they trail doesn't work at any of the slaughterhouses, he works near enough at a pub that all the workers frequent. He delivers food and, when he thinks no one is looking, filches still bloody bones out from barrels and boxes and carts. His altar is not his secret alone, for the three of them watch as a few others of the apartment slip down into it to pray desperately. As far as Chikusa can tell, nothing ever answers their pleas.   
  
More intriguingly, after scattered instances of stalking that sometimes take up a whole day or night, they find that their mark often ventures  _far_  away from home and work. It's not near any of the slaughterhouses, but rather a different district entirely. For all that he's poured over maps, both secondhand and that he's been able to find in their collection, Chikusa himself doesn't realize it one day until Ken speaks up. "I wonder what he's goin' into the Distillery District for?"  
  
"Distillery District?" Mukuro asks curiously, and Ken rapidly nods his head.   
  
"Yeah! There's a whiskey distillery around here. Heard it from an uncle of mine." Right after he says it, however, Ken gives a jolt and tightens his hand around Chikusa's. "We gotta be careful- the Bottlestreet Gang is around here," he says, voice hushed as they move through the streets. "They're really tough- I was always bein' told not to go in the alleys around here. They won't care if we're kids or not."   
  
Instead of being scared, Mukuro's eyes just shine bright. " _Interesting_ ," he says, the exact opposite of what Chikusa himself is thinking. "I wonder why he'd be going to a place where there's a dangerous gang?"  
  
"There's other things in this district too," Chikusa reminds him quietly, even as he squeezes Ken's back hand to reassure him. "Don't the Overseers live near here...? And I think rich people live around here too. Gangs are everywhere, so..."   
  
"Yeah, but they're not as bad as the Bottlestreet Gang." Ken grits his teeth together, with all the stubbornness his small frame is capable of. "Not a one of 'em."  
  
"Well, knowing the Overseers live near here is also intriguing," Mukuro hums. "What else do you two know?"   
  
Wracking his brain, Chikusa desperately tries to recall all the important sounding names his parents had mentioned another lifetime ago. He's having no luck and is about to admit as such when Ken suddenly speaks up. "Oh yeah, I think there's a whorehouse here."   
  
Chikusa chokes at the exact same time that Mukuro bursts into loud cackling laughter that draws the stares of everyone else on the whole street. Hastily, the three of them duck to the side, huddling together on the steps of some house or another while Ken protests their reactions with "It's true!"  
  
" _Ken_!" Chikusa hisses, face aflame and Mukuro's choked giggles not helping. "You can't just  _say_  that!"   
  
"But it's  _true_!" Ken whines again, as if that's all that needs to be said. "That's what it is! I've heard everybody else talk about it!"   
  
"You've heard  _adults_  talk about it."  
  
For a moment, the two of them are at an impasse as they stare at each other with Ken's cheeks puffed out and Chikusa's own a burning crimson. To the side, Mukuro's giggles start to slow and he wipes the tears from his eyes. A pity that is right when Ken says, sullenly, " _This_  is why you can't ever read to the end of the Prince of Tyvia."   
  
Mukuro's renewed burst of cackling just about hides Chikusa's outraged response or how he lunges right for Ken.   
  
"There there," Mukuro wheezes out eventually. Tears of mirth have made his face wet, his flush shiny as a cherry, but he seems almost genuinely happy as he reaches over to separate them. Chikusa has Ken's cheeks pinched between his fingers, the blond sticking his tongue out daringly from between his teeth, and Mukuro really has to work to get him to let go. "Let's calm down. I can't see where our lead has gone anymore."  
  
It's true. Hands swinging back down to his sides, Chikusa peeks out from where the three of them have huddled up at. The sunny street has plenty of people on it, although it's not the kind of bustling throng that's near places like the Hounds Pit Pub, but their mark isn't any of them. His shoulders slump a little bit. "I guess today is a waste then..."   
  
"Who says!" Bumping up against him, bony shoulders knocking, Ken grins excitedly for all his worry not that long ago. "We've never gone this far from home before! I bet we can find all sorts of stuff and new pawners and stuff."  
  
"Weren't you just getting worked up about gangs...?"  
  
Mukuro's hand settles on Chikusa's shoulder, and he wipes at his face with the other one while still smiling in amusement. "Then we'll just have to be careful," he says simply. "Ken's right. Why not make the best out of this situation? Now we know he comes here at all."  
  
While he's not really sure, there's no arguing with Mukuro and Ken once they've decided to join forces. Sighing, Chikusa trails along behind them, keeping an eye out for anyone strange or a little too roughed up. Admittedly, that's more than a couple of people including themselves, but he does his best. Fortunately, perhaps because they're so close to the Abbey which is discouraging enough for things in broad daylight, nothing really happens. They make their way through the alleys and side streets carefully, scrounging through trash and large dumpsters. Not glamorous work, or pleasant by any stretch of the imagination, but necessary. Quiet, innocuous, Chikusa is often left to be a lookout just in case.   
  
That's what he's doing when the woman shows up.  
  
Other people might ignore the old woman who starts coming up the road, her back hunched and her graying demeanor making her almost blend into the stone streets. Chikusa watches her carefully, because there's something not quite right. It takes a couple of minutes for him to piece it together: her slow careful steps, how she ignores the people around her, and, once she's not so far away, the two utterly pale spots in her face that should be colorful eyes. Without thinking, Chikusa starts to regulate his breath. It's an old trick he'd learned before he can remember, and one he does on instinct now. It's harder than people think to breathe quietly, to inhale through the nose with no sniffles and to exhale through the mouth without it grinding against teeth or tongue. But when done right, he's less than air, less than a ghost.   
  
It was how he'd hid in corners while servants gossiped and in plain sight while his parents passed him by despite the books in his hands.   
  
No one has ever found him before when he's gone so quiet like this before. Yet, to his surprise, the old woman doesn't pass him by like her eyes and his quiet says she should. Instead, she comes to a slow stop right in front of him, and  _smiles_  right in his direction. Even as he stiffens in surprise, something in the back of his brain rattles about danger. Quieter, but just as bad as when a man had held a knife up with the point held in Ken's direction.   
  
"My, what a good quiet boy you are," she says, voice creaking from the weight of her age. "What's a good boy like you doing in such scary parts of town?"  
  
Out of nowhere, sharp as a hagfish's fang, he's struck with the memories of parties his parents used to hold. As per their wishes, he had been quiet then, too, the perfect obedient child who did his best to never embarrass them and was trotted out like a prized wolfhound for his troubles. Something in their tones had been like hers is now: all spread honey yet with a strange aftertaste beneath it. Even younger, he had realized that the honey was only ever put there to hide the more truthful thing beneath it. The more dangerous thing.   
  
The old woman before him is very dangerous.   
  
His fingers curl uneasily at his side, wanting to fetch the knife from his bag, but he doesn't dare and for different reasons than that he's in public and attacking old women is frowned upon. "I'm waiting for my friends," he answers, which isn't a lie. "May I ask what you're doing, ma'm?"  
  
Either his manners or his indulgence of the conversation seems to please her, because her withered thin lips twist into a satisfied smile. "Why, I live here, my dear." She raises a hand and points down the street, her eyes still blank and unseeing. "Although it's such a trial, I must say, living all on my lonesome with no one to help a helpless old lady."  
  
Something isn't right here, a conversation he doesn't want to see through to the end, but Chikusa goes along with it politely. "That's too bad, ma'm. There's really no one?"  
  
"Well.... There was a nice darling bit of help," she sighs, "but I'm afraid he's gone and been a bad clumsy. Unfortunately, he has a bit of grocery something that your dear Granny needs so very badly. Won't you be good and get it for me?"  
  
Chikusa wants to refuse. It's on the tip of his tongue, spurred on by the uneasy feeling in the back of his mind. Yet before he can muster the nerve to do so, Mukuro's voice speaks up from behind him. "Is it just groceries, then?" Looking back, Chikusa watches as the other boy and Ken come out from the alleyway with their bags a little fuller. Mukuro's gaze has a sharp interest about it as he looks at the old lady, and Ken's matches it for wariness. As Mukuro steps closer, in front of him and the old woman, Chikusa feels a sense of relief. It's better to hide behind Mukuro and let him handle all of this.   
  
The old woman's head cocks, quick, sharp, bird-like, but she's only quiet for a moment as she takes in this new voice. Chikusa wonders if she actually hadn't heard him or if it's all an act. After all, she'd heard  _him_. "Oh, of course, nothing more than that," she says, far too sugar sweet. "I'll even give such good boys like yourselves some treats, to make up for the trouble."  
  
Mukuro's head tilts slightly, and Chikusa follows his gaze to her hands: covered by ratty gloves save for the very tips of her filthy fingers. "Well, I think we can do that much," he says after a beat. "Could you tell us where he is, then? So that we can get the groceries from him."   
  
"Oh, you should find him somewhere near John Clavering Boulevard," she says, pleased as anything. "Once you're done, won't you come find me on Endoria Street?"  
  
"Of course," Mukuro responds. "We'll get your groceries to you as quick as we can. C'mon, you guys." That gets Chikusa's attention, and he can see Ken perk up as well to the side. Not once has the other boy ever said something so casual, instead referring to them by their names. Always their proper names, too, no nicknames. As they all take their leave, Chikusa turns his head to watch the old woman toddle off on her way. Frowning a little, he leans in close to Mukuro.   
  
"I thought we were getting things, or looking for that guy?"  
  
"Change of plans," Mukuro murmurs, sounding thoughtful. "Something about her is off, right?" Turning a little, he looks back towards Ken. "I don't suppose you've heard anything about strange old ladies, have you?"  
  
Ken is still frowning, fidgeting as if there's an itch somewhere but he doesn't know how to scratch it. "I mean.... Coulda been Granny Rags, maybe?"  
  
What a name. "Who?" Chikusa asks, brow furrowing. Still, he can't deny it's a name that fits the old lady, if it's really her.   
  
"All my cousins used to say that she was a witch who could curse you." In contrast to his words, Ken shrugs carelessly, irreverent. "My aunt would tell them off all the time. Said they were just messin' with an old bat who lost her marbles ages ago." A common enough story, simple, and Chikusa believes it easily enough. If Ken knows something about the streets, it's usually true. Why would he ever doubt it?  
  
Mukuro only hums. "A lot of people who are called witches often aren't," he says. "But sometimes there's more to them than what we think. If nothing else, we didn't-"  
  
"Move! The Overseers have gotten an apostate!"   
  
Their heads snap in the direction of the voice and, before he knows it, Chikusa is running alongside Mukuro and Ken. There aren't too many people here, but there's enough that they all have to peer around longer legs and shove their heads inbetween clustered together bodies. Once the Overseers come into view, walking down the middle of the street, Mukuro hisses.   
  
The man being dragged along by the Overseers is the same man they've been trailing for months.   
  
Around them, people are muttering and whispering- gossip flows through the city like water whether spoken by the rich or poor. Times like this, it's just as important, and Chikusa strains his ears to pick out bits and pieces.   
  
"...Come here a few times, always thought he was strange..."  
  
"...My cousin said she found him in her boss's trash one night..."  
  
"...John Clavering Boulevard, wonder what an Outsider worshiper was doing there..."   
  
Eyes wide, Chikusa looks over to Mukuro and Ken. He only needs the one glance to tell they heard what he has, too. Immediately, all of the same mind, they pull away from the crowd and hurry down the street as fast as they can without being too suspicious. "She knew," Chikusa whispers, leaning in close to the other boys. "She had to have known!"   
  
Mukuro doesn't disagree. Instead, he gnaws on the inside of his cheek as the gears in his brain churn. After only a few seconds, he speaks up. "Ken, go to John Clavering Boulevard, see if there's anything the Overseers didn't pick up!" Nodding, Ken bolts off without question, and Mukuro draws Chikusa's attention back to him. "C'mon, we're going to that apartment!"   
  
Their pace picks up, and Chikusa finds the breath to speak up. "What about the apartment?"  
  
"The Overseers are going to find out where he lives! We need to see if he's left anything there, and pick the basement clean before they go and destroy it all!"   
  
Neither of them know the city as well as Ken does, but they know it well enough. Chikusa isn't sure how long they run or how many shortcuts they take before they're stumbling into the apartment doors. The street outside clatters with activity, and the apartments above their heads buzzes with the same, but no one is there to see the two boys slip into the basement.  
  
Save for minor differences, the pile of assorted boxes and garbage is right where it's always been, and neither of them bother to waste any time moving it neatly like they have in the past. Together, they shove it aside hastily, just enough for their malnourished frames to slip into the cracks. "Leave the bones," Mukuro hisses as he lunges straight for the rune on the altar. "Just the charms- we can get plenty of bones later!"  
  
There was never any need to tell Chikusa twice. He grabs the charms, shoving them haphazardly into his bag and hoping he doesn't break them- there's no time to be delicate when they're on a time limit. As they rush to shove everything back in front of the hole, Chikusa wonders if the Overseers will notice. Will they realize that this shallow attempt of a hiding place has been disrupted? Will they be suspicious of how empty the shrine is? The thoughts gnaw at him even as their feet pound up one set of stairs, then another, and another. It's only when they're stumbling to a stop in front of the door, his lungs empty and his mind distant, that a problem occurs to him. "We don't have the key," he hisses to Mukuro.   
  
His hands are digging through is pockets, his bag, anywhere- "It's fine," Mukuro whispers back, tugging hairpins out from the fruity mess that is his hair. "I can get through this! Just watch the stairs!"  
  
It's an order, plain and simple, and Chikusa doesn't argue with it. He just stays still for half a second, unsure of what his own body is feeling, before he suddenly finds himself playing lookout. Every time he glances back, he can't entirely tell what Mukuro is doing with his hands. All he knows is that no one comes up the stairs, and Mukuro is soon gesturing for him to come over. Every time he's ever smirked, it's always been some level of smug, but it's worse than usual as he lays his hand onto the door knob. "I told you I could," he says quietly, opening it.  
  
Chikusa doesn't have time to be awed or impressed. He merely rushes in, and Mukuro locks the door behind them.   
  
Frankly, he's not sure of what they were expecting. While they've been trailing their mark for ages, enough to know where he lives, they've never managed to peek into his apartment proper. Circumstances hadn't allowed for it. Yet the place is.... mundane. Normal. Chikusa has never been inside a place that wasn't either the richest of homes or utterly in ruins- no inbetween. So the dirty-but-only-a-little-bit floors, and the plain table in the corner with no damage... It's all strange to him. At the same time, that makes it harder to figure out what they're actually  _looking_  for.   
  
Chikusa is fairly certain that Granny Rags, if that was her, wasn't actually thinking of normal groceries.  
  
"What if it's not here?" Chikusa asks, breathless voice distant to his own ears as he digs through the cupboards. "What if he had it with him when the Overseers got him?" Even normal groceries, in the hands of an Overseer worshiper, would probably get burned to ashes. Everything in this apartment might, if the Overseers get their way.   
  
Mukuro's expression is blocked as he ducks his head into an ice box, but Chikusa can hear enough stubbornness that it doesn't matter. "It'll be here, somewhere." He sounds so sure... The exact opposite of Chikusa.   
  
The front room and meager kitchen offer nothing that might pass as "groceries", normal or otherwise, so they retreat into the single bedroom that the apartment possesses. Just as dirty as the rest of the place, maybe a little dirtier, the sheets less clean and a couple of bottles balanced precariously on a bedside table. Together, the pair of them tear through his closet, the desk, everything, until luck finally smiles on them when Chikusa glances underneath the rickety bed. A small pile of things wrapped up in brown paper and twine have been shoved all the way to the back, not easily seen unless someone is looking, and their immediate future doesn't seem as dark.   
  
It only takes a few seconds to shove everything into their bags. They've looked over everything, and everything hasn't gotten them much. Could they be wrong? Chikusa knows it's a possibility. However, they don't have time to make sure they're right. They can only scurry out of the apartment, himself taking watch again as Mukuro fiddles with the locks as if they were never there. Even as distant from himself as he is, Chikusa can still hear one thing above all else as they clomp down the stairs: the pounding of his heart, beating a demanding rhythm against the inside of his skull.   
  
They made it. Somehow.   
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Mukuro's gleeful and satisfied expression blurs, his sharp smile a white sickle to Chikusa's vision. He's saying something, words muffled beneath the beat of his heart. If he wanted, he knows, he could make it out if only he tried. Chikusa doesn't try. He just lets himself be guided out of the apartment and down the street, resisting the urge to close his eyes.   
  
A good thing he doesn't. Ahead of them, down the street, figures all in black with leering white faces turn the corner.   
  
Immediately, Mukuro takes his hand and tugs him to the side with their backs to wall. Chikusa lets him, and lets himself close his eyes tight. It's hard to focus, hard to get himself  _back_ , but he does his best. Sound of his heart, down to the feel of it in his chest, the way it travels down his hand and rebounds off of Mukuro's grip... Bit by bit, piece by piece. Breathe in, breathe out. The sound of the city starts to overtake the thunderous pumping of his heart.  
  
Even with his efforts, however, he still misses at least half of a conversation, and finally tunes in to Mukuro's voice, distant and strange to Chikusa's ears. "-errands, sir."  
  
The Overseer's voice is twice as bad, warped, echoing, as if he's speaking to them through a hollow pipe instead of right there before them. Chikusa doesn't dare look up into the mask, instead staring a hole into one of the pockets on his jacket. "I see. Your assistance has been appreciated. I trust you both know your strictures well?"  
  
Chikusa can't see Mukuro's face, isn't sure he could even if he looked directly at him, but he feels the other boy's hand tighten all the harder around his hand. Before Mukuro can say anything, Chikusa speaks up. At least, he's fairly certain it's his voice. It can't be anyone else's. "Restrict the Wandering Gaze that looks for some flashing thing that easily catch's a man's fancy in one moment, but calamity in the next. Restrict the Lying Tongue that is like a spark in a man's mouth. Restrict the Restless Hands, which quickly become the workmates of the Outsider. Restrict Roving Feet which love to trespass. Restrict the Rampant Hunger or the excess will rise up among you like a swarm, devouring everything wherever they go, even filth. Restrict the Wanton Flesh. Restrict an Errant Mind before it becomes fractious and divided."  
  
He doesn't even have to think. The words come out a perfect recital, and the only way they could be more perfect is if he had a book before him from which to read the words. He could still do it even then, when he thinks about it.... But he doesn't believe he has to, not when the Overseer says, "Good, child. With boys such as you, the Outsider's influence in this city shall never last for long before the righteous smother it." And with that, he and his group turn on well polished heels to continue down the street. As for them? Mukuro tugs Chikusa along, hurrying through the streets and away into the alleys.   
  
He at least waits for that long until he bursts out laughing.   
  
Blinking away the blurriness that's still threatening his vision, Chikusa looks over to Mukuro. He's a little clearer, now, or at least he looks more as things should look and not strange. A brilliant rosiness has colored his cheeks, and he's laughing so hard that tears coat his face. "Can you believe he said that!?" he chokes out, covering his mouth as if that can hide his giggles. "Yes, we'll smother the Outsider's influence, us!" He doesn't explain further, paranoid even now, but his hand does carelessly gesture in the direction of their bags.   
  
Well. It  _is_  pretty funny. Chikusa just wishes he could get his own voice to laugh. Instead, as he focuses on the feel of his lungs and the way his bag strap digs into his shoulder, he hoards it away to tell Ken, later. Maybe then he'll be able to laugh along with him.  
  
They make it partially back to the Distillery District before Ken comes whirling around a corner, nearly crashing into them in a side street. "Kakipii!" Wide eyed and head bumping against Chikusa's chest, he looks up at him and immediately frowns. "Kakipii?" Chikusa says nothing, only reaches out to find Ken's hand which meets his halfway.   
  
"Did you find anything?" Mukuro asks, drawing the blond's attention back to him, and Ken shakes his head.   
  
"The place was flooded worse than home, but with Overseers!" he says as he steps into line with the two of them, still holding on tightly to Chikusa's hand. Mukuro's strides are long and confident compared to Ken's shorter ones and Chikusa's slow gait. "They kept yelling at me to go away, or else they'd drag me to my ma. But a couple of times when I was quiet, I could get away with sneakin' around and they wouldn't notice me and I could hear 'em talking to each other. Apparently that guy has been sneakin' around a lot and was tryin' to get someone's  _blood_."  
  
"Gross," Chikusa says quietly, even as his skin itches with the memory of blood drying on it. At least he's feeling anything at all.   
  
"He should have just stayed at that bar and waited for a brawl to break out," Mukuro drawls, unimpressed. "Although I guess it would be pretty suspicious if he started holding someone's bleeding face over a jar. Still, to go so close to the Overseers..." He looks over to Chikusa, nodding at his bag. "What did we get from the apartment, anyway?"  
  
It's a little difficult, opening the bag when its on the same side as his only free hand, but Chikusa doesn't dare let go of Ken. They come to a stop near a dumpster, away from prying eyes, and he pulls out the first package to hand over to Mukuro. It feels strange and bulky in Chikusa's grip, paper muffling the true shape of the item, and he has just about as much of an idea of what's inside as Ken does. Silently, he watches Mukuro work through the twine and folds upon folds of brown paper until...   
  
"Eugh." He recoils a little, and so does Chikusa at the sight of a dead rat there- so stiff that its head doesn't twitch a single bit. In contrast, Ken leans closer and whistles.  
  
"Wow! He can't have been keepin' it that long, or else it'd look a  _lot_  grosser."  
  
"No doubt." Mukuro promptly gets to wrapping the rat back up again; the smell must be getting right into his nose. "I think we'll keep from unwrapping anything else. No more nasty surprises. Granny Rags can deal with the rest of this."  
  
"If it's hers," Chikusa murmurs. Finishing his task of wrapping the rat up again, Mukuro's eyes spark as he reaches over to tuck it into Chikusa's bag.   
  
"I don't think there can be any doubt. C'mon, let's keep going, or else we won't be able to get back home before sunset."  
  
Endoria Street isn't a hard place to find, if you know the streets of the city, and Ken leads them to it easily although he is careful in case of gangs or Overseers. The former, they don't run into in the end. Chikusa would blame it on good luck, but he knows better. Most likely they don't want to deal with the roaming Overseers who are all on high alert and the annoyance interacting with them would bring. Anyone who pays even a little attention and has a halfway decent memory could recite the Seven Strictures to the Overseers' satisfaction, sure, only that might take forever. Best to just stay quiet and avoid them completely. Chikusa understands the sentiment. Soon enough, they're right on Endoria Street, peering up at buildings and passing by the waterfront.   
  
"I suppose we should have asked for more specific instructions," Mukuro mutters, squinting at an apartment that's not half bad. That seems to be the general theme along the street: places that are rather nice, especially the closer the buildings get to the Overseers' territory. Yet in contrast, there are a couple of buildings that have seen the wear of time and, hanging close to Chikusa's shoulder, Ken cheerfully points out the places he knows.   
  
"Maybe she lives at the Bitterleaf Almshouse?" Ken tries, saying the whole name right and proper, eyes half on Chikusa. "They take all sortsa people, like orphans, and crazy people."  
  
"Ken," Chikusa says quietly, not quite disapproving, even as Mukuro's gaze flicks over it. "Were you reading the Shadow On Bitterleaf?"  
  
"Nah, 'cuz that's all you do."  
  
"Maybe not at the almshouse," Mukuro says, nudging them and directing their attention to a certain apartment not that far off, "but perhaps close enough." It's one of the less nice buildings, and a gaggle of kids that can't be too much younger than them hurry away from it, pointing and giggling. Mukuro glances back to Ken, raising an eyebrow. "You said people think Granny Rags is a witch, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah, all over." Ken's nod is enthusiastic, to say the least.   
  
"Then let's try over there."  
  
No one answers the door when Ken first knocks, knuckles cracking along the wood. Chikusa glances around as they wait, expecting the three of them to be stared at for it but not finding many eyes on them at all. Besides the small group they saw only a few minutes earlier, there aren't too many kids about, and any adult on the streets has more important things to do then watch whatever they're doing. While he looks, he hears the click of a door, and turns back expecting to see the old woman. What he sees instead is Ken testing the door, unlocked, and poking his head in.   
  
"Ken...."  
  
"It's fine," Mukuro assures him, nudging Ken and then Chikusa inside. "She told us to drop them off, didn't she?"  
  
She did, but that doesn't mean Chikusa likes the idea much more. Warily, he lets himself be herded in, and takes a long look at the place.  
  
It's.... not that much different from other houses, at least Chikusa thinks so. There's a long simple hallway, leading to what looks like another room with a set of stairs that go upwards. To the left is a simple sitting room, filled with equally simple furniture. While it's all worn down, not as elegant as it could be in some other nice apartment, it's.... far less run down than the places in the Flooded District, including their own home.   
  
Not that such a thing is much of a feat.   
  
All three of them tread with caution, poking their noses through the sitting room and eventually going into the one in the back- a kitchen as it turns out. "Miss?" Mukuro calls up the stairs, one hand on the railing and voice tentatively polite. "Are you here?"  
  
Ken's approach is much simpler. "HEY GRANNY WE GOT YOUR GROCERIES!" he bellows, right in the middle of the tiny kitchen and his head tossed back. Chikusa jumps nearly a foot in the air, his heart smashing against his ribcage, and even Mukuro hops five steps up the stairs with his knuckles gone white on the railing. They both stare, wide eyed, until Ken lowers his head again. "Maybe she's still rootin' around in garbage," he says.   
  
"Maybe," Mukuro says dryly, easing up and coming down the stairs. "Ken?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Next time warn us before you break anyone's ears."  
  
Calming down as well and firmly himself now, Chikusa lets out a breath. "Let's just... put the stuff down somewhere. We can come back later to make sure that this is even the right place. Okay?" It's a solid plan no one can really argue with, at least not with sunset approaching, so they all go together into the sitting room. It's the easiest place where no one will miss it, and besides... Who knows what it means to poke their noses too deeply into a witch's house. All three of them are clustered together as Chikusa and Mukuro pull things out from their bags, putting them on one of the armchairs while Ken watches in fascination. One package had a dead rat in it. Who knows what the others hold? When everything not theirs (well, more "not theirs" than usual) is set down, they all straighten up and turn around.   
  
Right there in the middle of the room, hanging from a long string, is a bonecharm.   
  
All three of them freeze.   
  
"That wasn't there before," Ken says, head swiveling from side to side sharply, bristling worse than a spooked wolfhound. When Mukuro starts to reach for it, he immediately grabs the other boy's hand and whines. "Hey...!"  
  
"It'll be fine," Mukuro says, confident, as if he knows everything, and pats Ken's hand off of him. When the blond finally retreats and it's clear that Chikusa won't do anything himself, he finishes reaching for the bonecharm. Nothing happens. There's no boom of thunder, no screams of the damned. He merely pulls it off its string, and takes it close. As Mukuro turns it over, a small folded piece of paper is seen tucked against the wire holding the charm together. Ken keeps watch as he unfolds it, displaying the words written there.   
  
 _Good children get sweets and treats for helping dear Granny with her groceries. Come visit her sometime soon so she doesn't get lonely!_  
  
There's not a word from any of them. All they do is gather their things, Ken bristling as he guards their backs, and hurry out the front door. Silence keeps a hold on all of them as they go down the street, shoulders brushing, backs tense. It's only when they're finally out of the Distillery District, that Chikusa speaks up. "Are we going to come back?" he asks, eyes searching Mukuro's face carefully.   
  
For a while, there's only the sound of their footsteps, barely audible as the city carries on noisily around them. "She knows more than she lets on," he says at last. "With that man captured by the Overseers, it would take ages for us to find someone else... and that shrine isn't safe to go to anymore. They'll definitely find it. So.... It's for the best."  
  
Well. Maybe it is. Ken nods, accepting it easily, so it's up to Chikusa to ask, "How long will we do it?"  
  
There's that spark again. "As long as necessary."


	6. and the ships are left to rust

As he has done so for many years now, Chikusa opens his eyes to stare upwards at the dull wooden ceiling straight above him. In the gloom, it and so much else seems to lurk.  
  
His left side is completely taken over by Ken, curled up and burning hotter than a fireplace. To his right, Mukuro is spread out neatly, and their hands barely brush. For a moment, he stays inbetween the two other boys and basks in their comfort and warmth. Not for the first time, he reflects on how it would be so easy to stay right where he is. There is nowhere else in the world he would rather be, now, than with Ken and Mukuro. Nonetheless, there is work to be done, so rise he must. It has taken many months of practice, now, but Chikusa untangles himself delicately from the blanket nest that they've all nestled into over the course of the night. While they aren't in the coldest months that Dunwall can punish its inhabitants with, the nights are still becoming chill. Here, in the Flooded District, this is especially true.   
  
Once he's free of Ken's limbs and stepped delicately over Mukuro's slumbering body, Chikusa begins the same routine as always. Lowering the ladder from the attic to the bedroom takes skill to do so quietly, and even more of it to step down. A pan is ferreted out from their stashes, as are canned meats that will taste at least a little bit better once they're cooked through. He's only gotten the fire properly roaring, its light competing with that of the sun that's finally filtering through the windows, when his company awakes. Ken is the first. Ken is always the first. Perhaps his senses are sharper. Maybe he knows the loss of Chikusa's body and wakes up automatically. Chikusa himself has long since stopped questioning it. He only swats Ken's hands away when he tries to sneak pieces of food to sate his hunger. Once, he used to waste energy telling Ken off for such, but he doesn't anymore. If his best friend hasn't learned from the hundreds of times Chikusa has scolded him, then he's never going to. His energy in the morning is never a plentiful thing, and he could use it for more important tasks.   
  
There's never really been any doubt to Chikusa that Mukuro is always up earlier, and yet he takes his sweet time rising. Only when the food is nearly done does the ladder creak with his weight. As Chikusa maneuvers some meager amount of food onto a dirty plate, he glances over at the other boy. He's stretching his arms high up over his head, spine curving with the movement, and his smile is indulgently lazy as he directs it to the others. "Smells good," he says by way off greeting, accepting the plate Chikusa hands over to him. To the side, Ken is already stuffing his face. One day he'll make himself sick eating so fast. "But we should get fresher things, sometimes," he adds, a regular comment.   
  
Chikusa has the same response ready, as this is also practically a part of the routine. "If you can find us more money," he says duly, getting the remainder of food for himself. None of them ever have more than the other; Chikusa is careful to divide whatever he cooks into even thirds. This hasn't done anything for his frame. As the months have passed, he's only become taller and lankier than he was when he still had parents. If there's a sort of science to how Ken can fill out and he can't, it's one he doubts he'll ever know.   
  
The routine continues as they eat: Mukuro and Chikusa talking about their plans for the day (same as usual), Ken tossing out the occasional commentary, and the dishes are cleaned as best they can be in the circumstances that they're in. They really only have the one set, after all. It's rather tough to find plates and bowls and forks and other things. Such household items haven't been in the Flooded District for ages now, long taken when Ken and Chikusa were first learning how to explore their changed home. Thus, they make do with what they can. Only when the plates have been aggressively scrubbed and painstakingly rubbed dry do they find their shoes, all set to head out for the rest of the day.   
  
Nothing of value lies within the Flooded District now. The patient efforts of themselves and others have cleaned it out, bone dry. Regardless, the three of them go through all of it again, just in case. So long, and they've come to learn their home quite well. All the weakest buildings, the sturdiest places to put their feet.... It's as known to them as their own hands. All that are worth looking at are the River Krusts. The jewelry in that fine wooden box is a precious commodity they can't waste. For one thing, they can't sell everything at once lest they look suspicious both to any of the pawnbrokers of the city or to anyone who might spot what they're doing. It'd either give the wrong idea, or have people snooping. Neither is ideal. For another, expensive trinkets like that are best saved for special occasions.   
  
So, in the time being, they keep an eye on the River Krust population which flourishes in the Flooded District's damp conditions. Really, there's nowhere else where they can grow as they do without workers scraping their fledgling selves away. Chikusa still thinks it's a bad idea, courting danger this way, but he has to admit that it's otherwise an easy way of farming currency for themselves. Most of the time, they cull the nuisances when they're still young but just old enough to have formed pearls within their innards. It's a talent that has taken a lot of time to cultivate, partially because Chikusa has demanded caution above else. Ken already sports a jagged scar across his face from that time the hagfish got him. They don't need to get anything else on that skin of his, although perhaps that might be a losing battle when it comes to Ken.   
  
At least with three people that means it's easy to fool such simple things. One as bait, one as a lookout, and one to harvest- a solid plan that they came up with all on their own. This morning, however, there's no need to do such work. Most of the Krusts are still too young, their spit falling a little short, and the single entity that they're encouraging to grow larger for more reward has a ways to go yet. Their little "Krust farm" needs no tending, and it's the last thing on their route before they head back the other way.   
  
With nothing in the Flooded District, that means they've come to spend more and more of their time in Dunwall proper. Ken still knows its streets best, of course, yet Chikusa and Mukuro have learned plenty enough as well. If nothing else, they know the better shortcuts, and they know what gangs lurk in what dark corners. Most importantly, they know enough to only need to stay together for a little while, in the time it takes for Ken to lead the way to a pawnshop where Mukuro can use that silver tongue of his to good effect. Even without pearls, after all, or jewelry, there's always something to sell. Money passes hands, from the pawnbroker to Mukuro to Chikusa, as it always does. From then on, they separate.   
  
Where Mukuro goes, they can only wonder. He could be lazing about in some nice sunny spot for all Chikusa knows. It's not really any of his business, or Ken's. All he focuses on is making his way to the shops and markets, where he picks out the cheaper things they can afford and which will keep in their dilapidated home. Ken tries to stay with him for as long as he can, but patience has never been one of his particular virtues. Inevitably, usually when Chikusa is only a quarter through his list and looking over how many bruises are on some sort of fruit, the blond detaches from his side.   
  
Unlike Mukuro, it's a lot easier to know what Ken gets up to. Sometimes he gets into fights, although at this point in the day it's only with kids his size instead of anyone twice it. There's a little bit of game playing, when he's not feeling so worked up. Mostly, however, Chikusa is pretty sure that Ken just steals. When the blond had first started up such a habit, Chikusa had fussed. What if he got caught? What if a City Guard went after him? Nowadays, he doesn't bother. Ken doesn't have the finesse for things like pickpocketing, but he has a quick hand and quicker feet. If something is left out in the open, vulnerable, then it quickly becomes his whether any of them need it or not. All that matters is that he doesn't steal  _too_  much. That's the key to being a successful thief- knowledge Chikusa would never have known in a different lifetime. Usually, he can find his best friend before it gets to that point, his legal shopping finished, and the two of them beat feet before they get too many strange looks.   
  
Such mundane trivialities take up the whole morning, more often than not. When they're done, the sun is high in the sky with its heat bearing down on the streets. In the winter, that's a boon. In the summer, it's one more trial for them to deal with. Either way, together they always venture off towards the river where they sit along its edges where concrete still stands against the waves. Street vendors are easy to find all over the city. Better yet, they're cheap. Chikusa gets the two of them something, not sparing any mind for Mukuro, and they watch the ships and smaller boats pass through along the river. Times like this, Ken loves to point out different ships, and points them out with all their details. It's been a long time since he's ever heard about such things, but Chikusa is certain that no one in Ken's family were ever involved with the sea enough that would warrant such knowledge. Where he's picked it up is as much of a mystery as where Mukuro goes to on his own. He doesn't question it too much. Instead, he listens with a strange sort of serenity curling comfortably in his chest.   
  
When they're sitting together like this, Ken's voice filling his ears, Chikusa almost thinks that they could be as they once were again: sitting along the window of his home and watching busy streets far below them.   
  
This is where Mukuro is always sure to find them, whether it's information they've told him or not. Sometimes he sits with them, too, and talks pleasantly with Chikusa and laughs at things that Ken says. Other times, he eagerly rushes them to their feet. Today, it seems to be the latter as he comes up to them with his thumbs hooked into his pants pockets. "Come on, come on," he urges, bright eyed and energetic. "Let's see what she's left for us today."   
  
"If she's left anything," Chikusa reminds him, taking his time in getting up to his feet. Mukuro's voice was all Ken needed to hop to his immediately, which makes him the last one. "Some days she doesn't."   
  
Waving off his concerns with a lax hand, Mukuro sets off as soon as Chikusa is up. "I have a good feeling about today," he says. "I'm sure she'll have left something." With that said, he leads the way to Granny Rags' home.   
  
This, too, has become a part of their routine. Ever since they first proved to her their ability to get things done, little tasks have always been available from the strange old woman with her white eyes and withered fingers. Sometimes she's there, but, more often than not, little notes much like the first one are left for them to find somewhere in the general vicinity of her home. At first, Chikusa thought they'd be simple if often dangerous, but...   
  
"I hope she's straightforward with this one, if there's one at all," he mutters, slouching in his distaste. One would think that finishing a suspicious old lady's "grocery list" would be rather simple. Yet despite this general idea, it's not always so with Granny Rags. Every now and then, instead of outright listing what it is she wants them to get, they stumble upon riddles or strange sing-song rhymes instead. During those kinds of days, it takes them just as long to figure out what exactly it is that she's asking as much as it does to actually complete them. If there's any bright side to the whole annoying endeavor at all, it's that she never seems to demand them too quickly. They can afford to take their time a little if there's something difficult, or that they don't understand right away.   
  
Mukuro only laughs a little bit at him. He laughs even harder when they find a note rolled up and tied to her door that, when unfurled, reveals yet again another bizarre nursery rhyme of a puzzle and which draws a scowl onto Chikusa's face. Yet if he's scowling, then Ken is scowling all the harder. Slumping against Chikusa's side, he groans. "Not  _again_!"   
  
"Now, now." Mukuro sounds amused as he reads over it. "It's not that bad." Then again, he would say that. If there's anything that Chikusa has learned in all the years that they've stayed together, it's that Mukuro thrives on theatrics. If he wasn't the supposed child of a witch, then Chikusa wonders how long it would take for him to end up in theater and on a stage. While him and Ken sulk to the side, Mukuro finishes reading and hums a little bit. "No.... I think this might be easy. Although..." Pausing, he looks over to the two of them. "You two might not like it."   
  
Ah. Somehow, the way he says that wipes away all of Chikusa's grouchiness. In its place, uncertainty and anxiety faintly coil. There's no worry from Ken, however. Instead, he cocks his head to the side and asks, "Why, is it really hard?"  
  
"It might be." Stepping away from Granny Rags' door, he nudges his shoulder against Chikusa's to get him to follow. And where Chikusa goes, Ken follows. Mukuro says nothing else in explanation. Instead, he's utterly quiet as he leads them out of the district all the way until they can find an alley that hasn't been claimed by any gangs. Only quiet and garbage wait around here. After a quick look around to make sure they're truly alone, he gestures them closer and crouches onto the ground. With their heads bowed together, he whispers, "I think she wants a human eye."   
  
Chikusa freezes up. In the back of his mind, he's thinking of a kitchen knife in his hand again. Ken is much louder, his whisper barely able to qualify as such when he leans in close. "Like from a  _person_?"  
  
"That is what 'human' means, Ken," Mukuro says dryly. After a moment, he adds, "They probably don't have to be alive." He squints down at the paper. "I think."   
  
What a reassuring answer. Letting out a long slow breath, Chikusa closes his eyes. In a way, it's a mistake. He can remember how it felt to drive a knife through the sturdy muscle and flesh of a back. He can remember how it looked and smelled to see the hagfish tearing into it all. This kind of bloody business is something he isn't unfamiliar with, is it? Opening his eyes again, he looks over to Mukuro. "Where are we going to find a dead body? It's not like those are just left lying around."   
  
"Now that's the question..." Tucking the note into his pocket, Mukuro rests his elbows on his knees so that his face can do the same in his hands. "Maybe from a hanged criminal?"   
  
Poetic, but with a problem. "They haven't done public hangings ever since the Empress happened," Chikusa points out. He's heard enough guards and adults talk about this sort of thing to know. Nowadays, everyone just goes to the prison to rot there. There's no way them or anyone else will ever be able to break into  _there_.   
  
Mukuro's cheeks puff out. "Maybe from a gang fight?"  
  
"So you want to hang around gangs and have a knife waved in your face all the time..." Clearly his answers aren't pleasing Mukuro at all, judging by the sulk that's making itself more and more at home on his face. Still, well, this is what Chikusa is best for. For the most part, he'll go along with whatever the other boy has in mind. It's more comfortable that way. Yet sometimes he has to be reined in. If him and Ken are left to their own, after all, then they'll just get themselves hurt. Chikusa knows this for a fact. He can help at least a little, however, and Chikusa tries to think of some solutions himself. Granny Rags' little errands are the only leads they have on learning anything more about the Outsider, even if she's never given them much more than one charms and other such trinkets. Until they can find something else... They're stuck with this. "Well... Is there anywhere dangerous, but that a person wouldn't tell their family or anyone else that they're going to?"  
  
Chins in their hands, they all try to think, and then Mukuro smiles. "Ah," he says simply. "I think I know just the place."   
  
No amount of asking from Chikusa or Ken has him reveal what idea has suddenly struck him. All he does is get them to follow him, off into the twisting maze of alleys which make up the city. On more than some level, Chikusa is worried. He did say "dangerous", and they are going to find a dead body. Who knows where they'll be led?  
  
At the same time.... This is Mukuro. He's strange, and his mind wanders into dark places, and he's pretty arrogant no matter what seems to happen to him. These are all true facts. Yet in the entire time that he's been with them, he's watched out for Chikusa and Ken better than any adult Chikusa has ever known. Few things have ever harmed them, and that which has he's always made sure to get back at twice over. His presence is a reassurance, and his leadership a comfort. Even considering the worst which might happen, Chikusa follows him regardless.   
  
When they step into the streets proper, Chikusa has to crane his neck back to take a good look at the building before them. It's  _enormous_ , pale white walls seeming to shine in the sunlight. It rises up above many other buildings that surround it, and the dome which tops it all off glints blindingly. While he can't see it, Chikusa is fairly certain of what is perched up on its very top: a thin metal cat, gold and brilliant.   
  
Ken is just as shocked as him, staying behind as Mukuro steps forward. For a moment, Chikusa thinks he might continue down the street or make a turn somewhere- but no. Walking past the boards positioned along the street, he makes his way right towards the opening among the tall walls that are around the Golden Cat's entrance. "Wait," Ken squeaks, his brown eyes wide, "we're going to the whorehouse?" Chikusa doesn't smack his arm for the language coming out of his mouth. He's too busy staring at Mukuro as well.   
  
Pausing in place, Mukuro glances back at them with a couple of innocent blinks as if he has no idea what the problem could possibly be. It doesn't last long. In only a few seconds, the look cracks apart, and he gives a cocky little grin. "What, are you scared?"  
  
Chikusa isn't entirely sure if  _scared_  is the word that he would use to describe the feelings going through him right now. Perhaps "tentative", or "bewildered", or "just a little embarrassed". Ken doesn't think that long on it. All he does is jolt forward, taking Chikusa along with him, and says far too loudly, "No I'm not!"   
  
There's nothing around the Golden Cat which hints that it's particularly busy. That means there's no one to really see the three of them step past the walls and to its front door. In the entire time that Chikusa has faintly been aware of buildings that- well, buildings like this, with business that it does, he's never particularly thought about what they would look like. It's been far outside of his experience, and he's never had reason to ever go near them. Certainly he would never have thought that it could be beautiful, but the space filling the journey from walls to front doors kind of is. He's seen the  _idea_ of gardens in various paintings, just never seen the real deal. In real life, the experience is different than anything he could have imagined. It's a small area, to be sure, but the greens of life pop vivaciously compared to the dull grays and browns that the city is so heavily coated in. Flowers dot bushes or vines here and there, lovely bursts of color that fill his nose with an alluring scent. Everything is such a pleasant surprise that Chikusa almost forgets what they're entering.   
  
He's hit with the reminder when they go up the stone steps and step past the wooden doors into a room  _drowning_  in red. As the former child of a noble, he's used to richly decorated places. This is something else, however. The lobby of the Golden Cat looks like a murder scene, with red everywhere that can be used. All that offers his eyes a reprieve from the brilliant color are the little things: a small bell at the counter, portraits which line the wall up the curving back stairway, two doors which are on the ground floor. In all the time that he's explored the city, it's no longer felt so imposing. Chikusa thought he had gotten over that particular feeling. Here in the Golden Cat, it hits him all over again, and he doesn't know what else to do besides stand there right in the middle uncertainly, Ken just as lost at his side.   
  
Perhaps to no one's surprise, Mukuro clearly doesn't feel the same. He peels away from the two of them to a door that's on the right, trying its handle. When it doesn't give, Chikusa half wonders if he'll lockpick it, and then wonders for what reason that Mukuro could do so. He had to bring them here for a reason, right? Yet a, er, brothel isn't the kind of place that should have anything to do with dead bodies, is it? There's not much time to ponder the peculiar mystery. From above their heads, heels click against wood, and all he can do is hunch up his shoulders. Should he hide? Should he turn and run out the door? Ken has about as many ideas as he does, apparently, because he stays right where he is.   
  
Before he can come up with a plan of what to do, a figure comes into view from the top of the stairs. It's a woman older than he would have thought, dressed more  _moderately_  than he would have thought, and one hand of hers trails along the shining railing which follows the stairs' curve. She doesn't come even halfway down when her eyes catch sight of him and Ken, and she huffs out a sigh of exasperation. "Oh, Outsider's filthy ass," she says, and Ken can't hold back the giggle which bubbles out of him. "So, is it just one of your fathers, or, so help me, is this a double mess? I can warn you right now, you rugrats, I can only tell him that you're here. If he doesn't want to come out, then he won't, so long as he has the money to pay for it."   
  
The mental image of  _his_  father coming to a brothel stuns Chikusa into silence. It just doesn't mesh, both because noblemen shouldn't do such things, and because his father was such a worker that he's not sure he ever would have had the time. Then again, how well does he remember his father, anyway?  
  
Ken's answer comes much quicker. "Nah, my pop wouldn't have money to even come through the front door."  
  
 _That_  makes her laugh, and she draws down a couple of more steps. This is apparently enough for her to see more of the lobby, because she doesn't have a chance to ask anymore questions before the sight of Mukuro hanging around the side door has her eyes flicking that way. "Oh!" she says, not sounding particularly surprised. "So it's you, huh? Well, you're a little later than usual, aren't you, applehead?"  
  
For the first time in all the years that Chikusa has known him, the faintest traces of a flush begin to burn along Mukuro's cheeks. "I've  _told_  you that's not my name," he says, trying for firm and imposing. On other kids, it tends to work. Chikusa knows it does for him and Ken. The woman, however, only snorts at him a little for his trouble and continues her way down the stairs. Mouth twisting, Mukuro keeps talking. "M.M. is here, isn't she?"  
  
The older woman stops before him and the door he's at, hands on her hips. "Well, she hasn't run away from her mother yet," she says bluntly. "But you're not going to find her in the staff quarters. I told you that you're late, didn't I? She's up on the higher floors, cleaning things before her mother and the others get to work." Mukuro opens his mouth, but he doesn't get a chance to speak. The woman holds her hand up before he can get the words out. "Let me guess: you want to go up there to go and see her, huh?"  
  
"And I wanna take my friends too," Mukuro adds, grinning a little. The blush seems to have faded, for the most part.   
  
"Yeah, I figured they were with you." She glances over her shoulder to where Chikusa and Ken are still standing awkwardly. "You know I've gone and told you that this isn't a place for children like you to play around in, haven't I? This is grown up business, with grown up acts that go on."   
  
" _I_  thought you had a bath in the basement, and did theater, sometimes." Her hand snaps out to box his ear, but Mukuro is alas too quick. He dodges it, skittering around her so that he can back up to where Chikusa and Ken are.   
  
"Yeah, you better run off to your friends," the woman grumbles.   
  
"We wouldn't be playing around," Mukuro grumbles right back. "We just want to talk with her and stuff."   
  
"Oh, 'and stuff', I bet."   
  
"Come on, Madam, it won't even take that long, and we'll be out of your hair before your evening customers start coming in."  
  
For a second, she only gives him the stink eye with not a hint of trust resting in the gaze. Eventually, however, she sighs and shakes her head. "I'm getting soft in my old age. You're obviously a bunch of gutter shits, but maybe some friends from outside will do her some good. Alright, just a few minutes, and then I'm sending someone up there to start chasing you off with a broom straight to all your asses."   
  
"Aw, no you won't, Madam." Mukuro's grin is incorrigible. "We'll bring you something nice one day to make up for it." He's already heading towards the stairs himself, and he jerks his head back at the two of them. "Come on, follow me." Jolting at being addressed, Chikusa hurries forward and bows his head politely at the Madam, especially since he knows that Ken, tugging at his hand, won't do it himself. At least one of them should remember their manners when it comes to situations like this.   
  
Higher up on the other floors of the Golden Cat, the constant presence of red begins to ebb away a little in favor of other things. There are various statues decorated all over, marble and gold and silver standing out, and the center of rooms are overtaken by beautiful plants that put the garden at the front door to shame. Befitting of the dome which Chikusa knows is high over their heads now, all the floors seem to be circular in some way as they go up higher and higher. So are various couches, filled with scarlet cushions. It all seems like it could be dizzying to get lost in, yet Mukuro continues to stride along with utmost confidence.   
  
It's not only the three of them and the older woman that are in the building. As they go along, various women soon make themselves apparent. Chikusa has no idea where they're going to, or where they come from. Really, it's hard to pay attention to such a minor detail like that. It's hard, at least, when all of the women are scantily clad in only bustiers or, even more revealing, simple cloths around their chests. Chikusa tries to ignore it, his stare focused hard on Mukuro's back, but Ken isn't so lucky. When he glances to the side at his best friend, urged by how tightly his hand is being held onto, he's met with a ferocious amount of blushing. Ken's face is so shockingly scarlet that he could be placed anywhere within the various rooms they pass through, and he'd blend in with little trouble at all. Occasionally, some of the women they pass by laugh softly at the sight. It's hard to believe, but Ken's face only gets  _redder_.  
  
Eventually, with a floor that has numerous doors leading out to balconies, he comes to a stop. "M.M.!" he calls out, and Chikusa peers around Mukuro's back.   
  
Quite a production has been made out of one door, with a small marble platform and steps leading up to it. A girl around their age is kneeling down on it with a wet rag in one hand. If Ken's face can temporarily match the rest of the decor, than this girl's hair is in a permanent state. Cut into a bob which hangs plainly around her face, every strand is bright red. They don't match her eyes at all, which shine a sharp dark blue when she raises her head. Her clothes are about as plain as any of theirs, although, Chikusa has to admit with no small amount of envy, what she wears is far cleaner. Upon seeing who's calling her name, M.M.'s face twists and she sticks out her tongue. "Ugh, it's you! And you brought  _friends_." The way it leaves her tongue makes it sound like a moral failing.   
  
Mukuro only laughs at her as he goes over to the stairs. "Is that any way to greet me?"   
  
"You haven't bothered to see me for a week, you bet it is." Her eyes narrow in warning. "I just cleaned this thing, so don't you dare step on it in all your dirt and junk. I'll shove you right over the balcony if you do!"   
  
"I know you will." He's far more happy about the statement than Chikusa really thinks is warranted. "How long until you're done with this, then?"  
  
M.M. snaps the rag towards him, aggravated. "What's it matter to you?"  
  
Drawing himself up proudly, Mukuro drawls, "It's a  _business proposal_." When she lowers the rag and regards him a little less hostilely, he continues. "But we can't talk about it while you're working."   
  
Blowing a raspberry, M.M. leans back. "Well, I still have  _everything else_  to clean. If it was so important, you should have come here in the morning when all the weirdos were still trying to remember how to be anything but drunk!" She eases up after that, however. "No one wants to see a single part of me when it becomes evening and all the men come here. That's a good time. I can meet you then, although I hope you don't think I'm going to walk anywhere around in the city." With her free hand, she presses her fingers lightly to her chest. "I'm a delicate lady."   
  
"No you aren't."   
  
"Why don't you come and say that to my face?"  
  
"Then I'd have to step up onto those steps you just cleaned."   
  
"And?"  
  
"Didn't you say you would throw me over the balcony?"  
  
M.M. quirks up an eyebrow. "Exactly." While Mukuro laughs again, she continues. "Anyway, I'll be over by the side door, on the workers' side of things. Just knock and I should be there. Now go away. I still have scrubbing to do." Turning away, she presses the rag against the marble once more and gets to work. That's all that Mukuro needs, and he turns on his heel as well. Still holding on tightly to Ken, Chikusa follows after him.   
  
It's a little hard keeping up with Mukuro enough to whisper to him. Ken still refuses to look up anymore, and the amount of blood in his face doesn't seem like it's leaving anytime soon. Chikusa manages when they're on the stairs, his long legs coming in handy. There are a lot of questions on his mind. So many, he isn't sure where to even start. Yet he can't waste his chance while he has it, so he whispers, "Who was that girl?"  
  
"Oh, right," Mukuro says absentmindedly, without a care in the world. "Sorry, I didn't properly introduce you. The Madam  _did_  say not to stay around too long, however. Anyway, that was M.M., you know, like the letters."  
  
"Is that her actual name?"  
  
"No clue." He shrugs, beaming at the Madam behind the counter and waving to her before he escorts them out the front door. Chikusa has no idea if she waves back, all his attention still on Mukuro. "Everyone calls her that, even her own mother." Stretching in the warm sunlight, he hums. "She knows some pretty interesting things. All the actual courtesans here do, too."   
  
 _Courtesan_  is a pretty fancy way of referring to the women who work in the Golden Cat. Then again, after having stepped through the building just now, Chikusa supposes it isn't exactly a misfit. "So the courtesans are going to know- well." His brows draw together faintly, aware that he can't really say their goal out loud here. Even when they step through the garden and past the walls, he doesn't quite say it. Instead, he tries, "They can help us with what Granny wants?"  
  
"I'm not sure." Once they're in the grime of the alleys, away from the gilded nonsense of the Golden Cat, Mukuro shifts to lean against a wall. "Still, I think it fits the kind of place you were talking about. All sorts of things can happen around here, especially with the Distillery District as it is and the Bottlestreet Gang so close. If anyone can help us, it's M.M."  
  
"Why? Is she reliable?"  
  
"Well, she's bribable, so." Mukuro laughs again and, for some reason, Chikusa finds some tension he's been unaware has existed easing away. So they're not really friends, then, are they? She's just someone who he goes to for his own reasons- information reasons if he had to guess. He doesn't stay with her like he does with Chikusa and Ken. That feels like an important distinction to make, for reasons Chikusa isn't entirely sure he can articulate in the moment. He definitely doesn't have a chance when Mukuro speaks up again. "So is Ken still out if it?" he says, face crumpled up into a teasing grin as he leans forward.   
  
Chikusa looks back to Ken again. "I think so," he says slowly, taking in that still furious blush and how Ken's eyes are planted firmly on the ground. As a test, Chikusa swings their linked hands through the air. "Are you okay, Ken?" There's no answer. Sighing, Chikusa reaches over with his free hand to pinch his side, and his best friend jumps sharply. "Ken. What is it?"  
  
With big wide eyes, Ken looks inbetwee Chikusa and Mukuro with his mouth sort of hanging open without much coming out of it save air. Right as Chikusa is wondering if he'll have to pinch him, harder and in somewhere softer, he speaks up again. "The women.... They were..." His mouth snaps shut for a moment, face blazing hard still, before he can force the words out in a hushed whisper laden with shock. "They barely had any clothes."   
  
The reason hasn't exactly been a secret, but Chikusa still makes a soft amused noise regardless. " _Now_  who can't finish The Prince of Tyvia?" he says quietly. Bristling from head to toe, Ken whirls on him and smacks his shoulder. It's hard to take the attack seriously when Ken is still so bright in the face, and Mukuro has burst out laughing again.   
  
"Shut up! I can too finish The Prince of Tyvia!"  
  
"They had women with no clothes in it, too, so I don't think you can."  
  
"Shut up, shut up!" By the time Ken is done yelling about it, Chikusa probably has a bruise developing in his upper arm and Mukuro has laughed himself all out of breath from where he's crumpled against the ground. He's clearly not going to win this battle. Ken realizes that much with all the overwhelming evidence, so he jerks his hand out of Chikusa's and crosses his arms. There's a huff. "It's different in a book," he mutters as he shuffles awkwardly to have his back to them. Chikusa can't find it in him to draw up much pity. Ken has made fun of him for this exact same sort of thing for ages now.   
  
For now, he focuses on the more important things. "So what are we going to do until evening?" he asks. That's a good few hours ahead of them, at the very least, and they can't spend the whole time sitting around in some alley. For one thing, there's no telling who might come skulking through it. For another, once he finishes his own pouting, Ken won't have the energy to just sit and wait around. That's like demanding a hagfish fly, with about the same level of bad idea attached to it.   
  
Pushing himself up to his feet, Mukuro links his fingers behind his head. "I suppose we could do whatever we wanted," he muses thoughtfully. "We just have to make sure that we don't go too far off. Maybe there are neat things in the river?" There are hagfish and river krusts in the river, that's what neat things there are. Mukuro doesn't wait for any feedback, however. With his mind set, he turns on his heel and begins to head back off into the alley they came from in the first place.   
  
Well, there's no point in arguing with him now. So long as they stay near the more populated parts of the city, they should be fine from anything too bad. Getting up to his feet, Chikusa steps around Ken only to pause. Without a word, he offers his hand and stars at the blond. There's no response for a good few moments, going on nearly a whole second. That's long enough for Chikusa to start worrying if maybe this is serious.... except then Ken suddenly snaps his hand up, and lunges onto his feet so suddenly that both of them nearly lose their balance. "I want to find a shark tooth in the sand!" he announces, tugging on Chikusa's hand. Together, the two of them attached, they rush down the alley to make it back to Mukuro's side.   
  
In the end, spending time at the rivers edge is one of Mukuro's better ideas. It's a little hard, and requires some scrambling off the decks that wait for boats, but they manage to find their way onto the actual shores of the river from there. Sure enough, so near to the Overseers and the money makers that are the distilleries of the district, river krusts aren't much of an issue. More of a danger is getting stuck in the mud or wet sand, their feet slopping through all of it. Fish bones, the occasional seashell, and dead birds are the most that they find, with nothing else of interest let alone shark teeth. When they finally drag their tired legs to back to concrete and stone, the sun is hanging low near the horizon. Back into the alleys and shadows they go, squeezing past all manner of garbage that blocks their way. It's a far different route than they first went through, honestly, and all Chikusa can do is trust that Mukuro knows where he's going. If he actually gets lost occasionally in the twisting paths... Well, he hides it just fine.   
  
Soon, the three of them are making their way to the open area of a building. Maybe some sort of open lobby or something? Chikusa has no idea. All he knows is that it's mostly abandoned, with a cold stove shoved to one corner and boxes populating plenty of other spaces. When Mukuro hops onto one to take a seat, Chikusa and Ken both find some for themselves as well. A door awaits them nearby, a cat symbol drawn onto it.   
  
It doesn't take much waiting before sounds begin to come from it: metal sliding against metal, at various heights. M.M. pushes open the door, a piece of thin meat hanging from her teeth and a bread roll in her other hand. Behind her lies a much plainer wooden hallway than the lavishness he remembers seeing from the rest of the building. "Oh," she says, almost  _disappointed_. "You showed up."   
  
A lot more re-energized since he actually stepped foot into the Golden Cat, Ken bristles. "Hey! That's no way to talk to us!"   
  
Snapping the meat up in her teeth, M.M. tucks it into one cheek so that she can stick her tongue out at him. "You don't get to tell me what to do!" she says haughtily, speaking around a full mouth. "Besides, I thought  _you_  needed  _my_  help."   
  
Mukuro leans forward before Ken can say anything else, or a fight can break out. Without any subtlety or preamble, he says bluntly, "We need a human eye."   
  
For a moment, M.M. says nothing. Instead, she just chews noisily with a dull eyed stare at him. Finally, she swallows. "That's disgusting," she announces. How gross she finds the idea is more than apparent. Yet there's no  _fear_ , or outright refusal. Chikusa suddenly has a feeling he knows why Mukuro likes this girl at all. "What kind of girl do you think I  _am_  that I'd be able to get you somebody's eyeball?"  
  
This is the question that Chikusa has been wondering as well ever since Mukuro first set off for this place. No doubt Ken has, too, because he's not subtle as he turns his head to look at the other boy. At least this time, they don't have to wait too long for an answer. "It's not  _you_ , exactly," Mukuro drawls. "But isn't this the kind of place where, if a body went missing, it'd be hard to pin him down to having disappeared here?" A laugh bubble out of his throat. "It's  _one_  thing to talk gossip about how some noble or politician or another likes having  _baths_ , but it's something else entirely to know that he ended up dead around somewhere like the Golden Cat. It's bad business for you, too, right?"  
  
Leaning against the wall, M.M. eyes him with a small huff. "No one," she finally admits, grudgingly, "wants to go to a brothel where people end up dead. It starts up all sorts of rumors, some of them maybe even true."  
  
"Rumors like what?" Chikusa asks quietly, Ken's hair brushing against his shoulder.   
  
She waves a hand dismissively. "Stuff like disease, or a guy getting choked to death during sex." M.M. says the word so bluntly that it doesn't register to Chikusa's mind for a second. By the time it does, all he can do is stare, and she's still talking. "Accidents happen, sure, but that doesn't mean Madam has to own up to them. That's not even talking about whatever gangs decide to roam around, although the Bottle Street guys usually have things settled from what I've heard."  
  
Suddenly, he's learned a lot more about brothels than he ever thought he would learn about up until five minutes ago. While him and Ken are absorbing all this new and strange information, Mukuro takes the reins on the conversation once more. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. I'm not saying you should  _murder_  anyone, although that'd be fine too, but just if a corpse happens to come along, we want a go at it."   
  
"You're always such a  _freak_." It's said about as derogatorily as anything else that's come out of M.M.'s mouth, which means it's relaxed and not as bad as it could be. For a couple of moments, she thinks about it while tearing through the roll she brought with her. It doesn't take as long as it would for most people, Chikusa thinks, who have just been asked to alert some boy about a free corpse. "What's in it for me?"  
  
Mukuro bares his teeth at her in a grin. "A date with Ken, the blond one." The blond in question squawks, going a little pink.   
  
"Ew. Gross."  
  
"Chikusa, then?"  
  
"He's barely better."  
  
Leaning forward, Mukuro bats his eyelashes. "And me?"  
  
M.M. promptly turns on her heel and starts to open the door. "I'm leaving."   
  
Ken's laughter bounces off the walls as Mukuro lets out an indignant shout. Leaping up off of his seat, he grabs at her before she can leave for real. Even Chikusa has to admit that a faint smirk tugs at his own lips. With how long they've been together, Chikusa is certain that he'd do a lot of things for Mukuro, maybe even almost as much as he would do for Ken. The fact that he's going along with this ridiculous quest, to get a person's eyeball for some creepy old lady that might be a witch, is proof of this. Still, they wouldn't be friends if he didn't take some amusement in the other boy being teased now and again. By the time Mukuro looks back over to them, however, the smile is gone from Chikusa's face. That means that when Mukuro gets his revenge, he only tugs off one shoe and throws it straight at Ken with a sulky huff. Ignoring Ken's resulting whine, he turns back to the girl whose arm he has in his other hand. "You're so stingy. You know that, right?"  
  
"It's how I get anything worthwhile done." Tearing a piece of bread off with her teeth, M.M. scowls at him. "Be serious for once or I'll never see your face again."   
  
With someone like Mukuro, that's honestly a thing easier said than done. No one is quite as stubborn or cunning as the other boy, even if at times he's a little ridiculous. Sighing, he leans back and cocks his head as if that will help him look at her any better. After a moment of gears turning in his head, Mukuro wets his lips quickly. "We'll get you some expensive jewelry," he finally says. "Something nice."   
  
That stirs M.M.'s interest, and she perks up a little even while looking more than slightly suspicious. "And how are you gonna do that?"  
  
He winks at her playfully, finally letting go of her arm and stepping back so that he's not in potential hitting range. Chikusa doesn't know her all that well yet, but she seems like the kind of girl who would. "It's a secret. But I promise we'll give it to you when you show us a body."  
  
Crossing her arms, M.M. stares him down for a moment with a set frown on her face. After a long dragging while, she jerks her chin up. "No jewelry, no dead body," she announces. With that said, she holds her hand out- the one not holding onto bread still. "Deal?"  
  
It's impossible for Mukuro to look anymore pleased. "Deal," he agrees, reaching over to give it a firm shake. "We'll check with you every morning to see if anything has happened."  
  
"Ugh, you're so needy."   
  
It's only when M.M. has disappeared back into the Golden Cat and they're well on their way home through Dunwall's dark oppressive alleys that Ken speaks up. "Are we gonna steal some stuff?" he asks, pressing up close around Chikusa's side to peer at Mukuro. Chikusa lets him ask the questions for now. They're on the same page for this, after all, and, besides, he needs to keep a sharp eye out on their surroundings. Venturing out when the shadow are at their darkest, street lights lone beacons in the night, is something he likes to keep them all from making a habit. It's fine, in measure, and with specific purposes in mind, but too much feels as though it's tempting fate.   
  
"You'll have to be more specific," Mukuro says lazily, peering around a corner to make sure that the coast is clear before he ushers them along. Once they've made it across the street and ducked into another alley, he continues. "We steal stuff all the time. I bet you stole this morning." A nod is made in the direction of Chikusa's bag, where all their groceries and misbegotten gains end up. At some point, that just became how it was, for all that he's made out of fish bones and bitter prayers. "So you'll have to be more specific on 'stuff'."  
  
Ken huffs, and would no doubt wiggle in place if they weren't all already on the move. "I  _mean_ ," he says, leaping and crawling his way up a fence, only pausing to grab Chikusa's hand to help him in turn, "you told that M.M. girl that you were going to get her some jewelry, right? So are we gonna steal some from a place? Like one of the pawn shops?"  
  
"And ruin the good standing that we have with the pawnbrokers?" Mukuro shakes his head and slows his pace; they're nearing their usual streets, now. Best to not look like they're in too much of a hurry, lest they look suspicious. "If one pawnbroker thinks we're thieves, then the others will hear pretty quickly. That's how that sort of thing is. Anyway, I thought it was obvious." Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, Mukuro smiles back at them. "We'll just use something from Chikusa's stash."   
  
Inside his chest, his heart freezes. Ken seems to sense something is immediately wrong, his brow furrowing together as he glances up into Chikusa's face and then to Mukuro's back. "Is that okay?"   
  
"It's just like when we take some things to sell to the pawnbrokers, right?" He waves his hand dismissively. "And M.M. will ask even less questions. It's fine."   
  
Chikusa doesn't bother to correct him. In fact, he doesn't speak for most of the night, falling into silence all the way from the abandoned streets they finally reach to the creaking floorboards of their flooded home. Even when he starts to get their dinner for the night ready, Chikusa stays silent. It's questionable if Mukuro even realizes for a long while. This is nothing new, after all, and Ken fills up the quiet well enough by virtue of existence. Chikusa can't really say. All he does is slip away from their small group huddled around the fireplace, and places his hand upon the ladder leading upwards.   
  
His mother's jewelry box is still in the same place it always is. Of course it is. Chikusa is always so careful to take care of it. It's been months, years- what feels like an entire decade, although he knows such time hasn't passed, and neither she or his father have ever come looking for him. He's accepted this fact, that they're never going to come back. At least, he thought he had accepted it. There should be no problem in agreeing with the plan that Mukuro has already set ahead for them. It's perfectly practical, and saving these pieces for pawnshops can take forever. They don't have that long. It's fine to go with a paln like this, just give the jewelry up for something in return if they can, so long as it's important enough. Right? He tries to tell himself this, again and again, and yet the words never sink through. After staring at the closed lid of the box for Outsider knows how long, Chikusa finally lets out a shaky breath and nudges it open. Nearby, a whale oil lamp waits patiently for him, and he reaches over to draw out its pale blue glow.   
  
When he first had the box in his possession, and the air still smelled thickly like rain and ruin, it had been close to overflowing. His mother, he recalls distantly, had always felt so proud of it. He had been able to tell that much from the way she had smiled down at it. Almost had bad had been his father's own pride in giving her something new. They'd really been fond of this collection, he thinks.   
  
Now, it's a mockery of its former glory. All the rings had clustered together, thick and sturdy as the walls of their home. Now, he can see the wood making up the bottom. Various earrings and pearls had made tangled nests inside their little boxes. It's so easy to pick them apart nowadays. Out of everything in the box, it's the necklaces which are closest to staying as they once were. Such a centerpiece, so large, and that makes them a lot harder to sell to pawnbrokers for any kind of worthy price. Even they, however, are looking rather thin in their space. Gently, he runs his fingers along them. All these years, and he hasn't lost the electric feeling which coils in his spine as if he's touching something forbidden. It has less to do with how he's a gutter rat, now, and more...   
  
Behind him, the ladder creaks again. He's expecting, or maybe hoping, Ken. Chikusa doesn't bother to look up to confirm one way or the other, however, and can't find it in himself to be surprised when it's a much darker figure that settles besides him. "I was thinking a brooch," Mukuro says conversationally. "Earrings and necklaces of this length would just look silly on her, and I expect that she'd tell us off for trying to make her look like a fool." Pausing, he listens for Chikusa's reply, and gets nothing. There's a pause where he could be making any sort of expression, if only Chikusa cared to look. "Do you actually still  _miss_  them?" he asks, no doubt making an attempt at curbing the incredulous tone to his voice and only partially succeeding.   
  
Does he? Chikusa honestly doesn't know. It doesn't feel like he should miss them. His parents barely paid him any mind, at least that's what all his memories tell him. They fed him, and clothed him, and made sure he had a fine education no matter his young age. Was all of that just because of duty, or in consideration to the image they had to portray? He wants to think otherwise, even now. He wants to think that they looked at him and, for even a fraction of a second, thought that he was something that deserved to be there, with them.   
  
Even as he thinks that, Chikusa knows otherwise. If they cared, they'd have been looking around the Flooded District when its name still clung to it. So why can't he treat the contents of the box so carelessly as Mukuro does?   
  
Fingertips tap impatiently along the wood, nails rattling against them dully, and Chikusa doesn't have to look up to know that Mukuro is getting fidgety. No doubt he thought this would be a lot easier than it's becoming. Before the silence can get to be too much, Chikusa finally opens his mouth and lets out a sigh. "It's still mine," he says quietly, rubbing his fingers against the finely carved details of the jewelry box. Throughout the years, it's seen a few bumps and scratches. No matter how diligently he watches it, after all, accidents do happen. Still, it's as good as could be expected, considering the conditions that they live in. "It's still mine, and you didn't ask."   
  
There are a lot of things that Chikusa will allow Mukuro access to, without any argument or trouble. The same with Ken, as Ken. Their blankets switch nightly from who they're wrapped around with, and the only issue that they experience with clothes is when something doesn't fit quite right but they make do regardless. They all ignore how some breeches are a little too short on anyone but Ken, or simply rolling up the sleeves on a shirt that belongs on Chikusa's longer frame. Even food has no boundaries, although they'll bicker over it with no real weight in their words. How common is it for them to see if they can slip something from another's plate, and grin when accusations get leveled their way? And yet...   
  
And yet.   
  
Down below them, the fire still crackles lazily where it is, and Ken's pacing gives away his impatience. Unlike down there, the shadows of the attic are steady in the face of whale oil burning. It matches how still the two of them are, unmoving, their breaths slow. Mukuro's stare has weight to it, and simultaneously feels as though Chikusa could be turned see-through by it. When he focuses, he certainly focuses. Chikusa has to admit that. He has no idea what might be churning through the other boy's head, or what he might say. So it's a surprise when he finally leans back, and Chikusa at last turns his head to follow him. Aggravation, anger, boredom- Chikusa is expecting any of those, and others, and even more combinations. Instead, to his surprise...   
  
It's hard for him to describe it. He's still staring straight through him, eyes as eerily bright as always, but the muscles in his face are so relaxed. Like he's found another bonecharm, or something strange and familiar. "Ah," is all he says. "I see."   
  
What  _does_  he see? Chikusa so very badly wants to know, the twists of desire hitting him hard and fast. He leans forward, the hunger perhaps showing in his eyes, because Mukuro laughs and suddenly things are perfectly at ease.  
  
"Well, don't worry about it." He leans forward, long enough only to lay his hand over Chikusa's to guide it into shutting the jewelry box. "If you don't want to by the time M.M. comes through for us, we have plenty of other options, right? We can always steal, as usual, although, as I told Ken, it would do us best if we don't target the pawnbrokers. Those are bridges we don't want to burn right now." With the box shut, he pushes himself up onto his feet. "Shall we go back to him?"  
  
Something... has happened. Chikusa is sure of that much. What that something is, well, it's a mystery that he suspects he won't solve anytime soon. Regardless, he nods his head, and puts the box back into its place. When they come down together, no yelling or fights having happened, he can see that Ken practically melts in relief from where he's paced himself all the way to the other side of the room. Still united, they curl up near the fire until the night is too dark and their eyelids too heavy. So late, Chikusa nearly forgets that a new part of their routine has now been added.   
  
He's given a reminder come early morning- far earlier than they usually wake, which is saying something. It begins with something nudging into his side, stirring his mind into consciousness, and that's when he realizes that the warmth on both sides of his body are gone. Immediately, he shoots upright and leaves his brain behind, panic at the helm of his thoughts. Fortunately, he doesn't have to look far. The faintest patch of light is visible when he looks around- the door leading down into the bedroom, moonlight offering its meager self best it can through such a small opening. Right there are two figures, and he can barely see their heads turn towards him as he begins to crawl his way over. His glasses are left somewhere else, leaving him half blind, but Chikusa doesn't care.   
  
"See?" Mukuro says, quietly exasperated but fond in his own way. "You've gone and woken Chikusa up now. There wasn't any need for that." Still, he doesn't go anywhere, and Ken reaches his hand out over to help draw Chikusa closer. At this distance, he can see now that Mukuro is partially on the ladder, with only his shoulders and head poking through.   
  
"Where are you going?" he asks, a quiet terror gripping his heart tightly. Mukuro has no chance to answer for himself. Ken steals the opportunity, his shoulder bumping against Chikusa's as he leans in close.   
  
"He was just gonna leave us to go see that girl!"  
  
Sighing, Mukuro shakes his head. At least, that's what Chikusa thinks happens. It's a little difficult to tell in the darkness and without his glasses. "We have to go check with her to see if anything has happened, remember? It's not a job that needs more than one person, surely." Blindly, Chikusa fumbles around until his fingers find the cool metal of a lamp, and it's glow reveals Mukuro's exasperated smile.   
  
Not that he needs to see his face to have come to a decision. "We'll come with you," he says quietly, ignoring the fog of sleep filling his skull. The brightness of Ken's triumphant smile is visible with or without glasses.   
  
"Oh, come on." It's a rather weak protest coming from Mukuro, honestly, and one which Chikusa firmly ignores as he crawls back to their nest of blankets to feel for his glasses. "You two worry too much." Or maybe they worry just enough. Regardless, Chikusa ceases his complaining when he makes them a quick breakfast, and the food muffles anything else Mukuro says.   
  
Lit by the last vestiges of the moon and not yet claimed by dawn's sun, they traverse familiar streets made unfamiliar with the time, and it gives them nothing in the end when they arrive at the side door to the Golden Pussycat. M.M. takes one look at them through a crack in the door with her eyelids heavy, curses, and slams it shut.  
  
So that's a "no" on the corpse front, apparently.  
  
The routine changes from that point on. Not too much, but enough for Chikusa to feel the differences distinctly with every passing day until he adjusts. A visit to M.M., a lazy drift back to the Flooded District where they can be safe, and then the usual chores that they've all assigned themselves. Bit by bit, Chikusa finds himself getting used to it. That's what he thinks, a couple of weeks into it, when he's suddenly surprised.   
  
It comes to him when he's squinting at the lines of fish that are on a fishmonger's stall, trying to decide just how sick of hagfish and canned meats they are, in the form of a breath suddenly blowing sharply along the back of his neck. Chikusa yelps, startled, and his fists are already curled at the ready when he twists around. Mukuro laughs, taking a step back. "Oh, you weren't expecting that?"  
  
Obviously not. More than he wasn't expecting the breath, however, he never would have expected Mukuro to suddenly appear in the market. It doesn't fit their schedule at all. Chikusa and Ken do things there, whether legal or not, and Mukuro... Mukuro goes off to do whatever it is he does. Apparently, that means sometimes making friends with the daughters of courtesans. His life outside of them could have anything going on in it, if that's the sort of thing he does out of their sight. Such a thought makes him nervous, sometimes, Chikusa has to admit... Right now, there's only a faint confusion. "Did you want me or Ken to get you something?" he manages to mumble, taking in the other boy. He's rocking on his heels, hands hidden behind his back.   
  
Mukuro chuckles at him. "I would have remembered to tell you in the morning before we separated," he reminds him. Mukuro isn't as careless or forgetful as Ken sometimes can be. It's a trait him and Chikusa share. "No, it's the opposite." Before Chikusa can question what exactly he means, Mukuro's hands snap out and something alights upon his head. Blinking in befuddlement, Chikusa reaches up.   
  
It's... a hat. Some sort of cap, to be more exact, like the sort he sees on the heads of boys selling newspapers. A firm bill at the front, a button on top, and softness everywhere else. Well, maybe 'soft' isn't the right word, considering how worn down it feels. As Chikusa explores with his fingertips, the bumps he comes across signifying torn through and roughly handled fabric. Clearly, however old this thing is, it's seen a life. "What's this?" he asks when there's nothing more to be discovered by touch alone.   
  
Mukuro has been watching him the entire time looking quite pleased with himself, which isn't new. Then again, maybe he's been enjoying the utter bewilderment that has drenched Chikusa so utterly. Both are probably true. "Something to be yours," is all he says, stepping closer and leaning forward enough so that he can look up into Chikusa's face. Not that it's a hard thing, honestly. Chikusa has noticed he's been hitting even stronger growth spurts than anything he experienced in his youth, and, no matter how much Mukuro grows, he's still always a little behind. "Don't you like it?"  
  
"I don't even know what it looks like," Chikusa points out, and earns more laughter. Mukuro reaches over again, but this time not towards his head. Instead, he grabs Chikusa by the hand and begins to guide him elsewhere. Chikusa could ask him where. He doesn't. What kind of answer is he expecting, anyway? It'll become clear in a moment and, sure enough, it does. Mukuro comes to a stop a little out of the marketplace, near some of the more established shops of Dunwall. The windows aren't in the squeakiest clean condition, no, yet they're better off than in some places in the city. Here, where the people are busiest and their wallets at their fullest, it pays to be at least moderately clean with windows that can show off fine wares. Decent ones, anyway.   
  
They're clean enough for what Mukuro wants, which is for his and Chikusa's reflections to look back at them. Even discounting dirt and dust, the hat atop of his reflection's head is a sturdy brown that looks warm no matter how many shadows are around. When Chikusa reaches up to tug it down, he feels... different. How, exactly, he isn't sure. All he knows is that the boy with the messy short hair in the window is a very different boy than how he's ever felt. Or is it because of Mukuro's reflection right besides his, the warmth of his body pressing in at his arm. "So what do you think  _now_?" he presses, impatient.   
  
What does he think? His fingers curl along the side of the bill, slow and uncertain. "I.... like it," he answers at last. In fact, he's amazed at how much he likes what he sees and who that other boy is. "It's nice." Besides him, Mukuro's smile is long and satisfied.   
  
"I knew it would look nice on you."   
  
"Where did you get it?"   
  
His answer is a sharp dismissive shrug, which says all it needs to even without words. "It's unimportant," he says. Leaning in closer, their arms against one another, Mukuro hums. "It's yours." Inside his chest, Chikusa's heart does something strange and funny. "Completely." For a moment, there in the street with dozens of people passing them by and the buildings thick in their unity as they rise high up into the sky, he feels detached from it all. It's not in the usual way, however, where mind and body are at an odds. Instead, it's...  _with_  someone, for once. It's with Mukuro, this strange story-telling witch-child with his mismatched eyes and clever knife-wielding fingers and secrets he wanders off with that no one else is privy to. The rest of the world exists, sure, just only in the most distant sense where it doesn't exactly  _matter_. At least, it doesn't matter as much as being right here, right now, with him.   
  
Mukuro continues to look right into him, as he did some years ago in a dark room with the moonlight watching them, and Chikusa can't put into words what is going on inside his chest.   
  
"Hey!" Like that, the moment is broken, and Ken's voice draws Chikusa back down to earth as it always has hundreds of times before. The world is back with a single blink of his eyes. The crowds suffocate, the buildings intimidate, and Ken shoves his way against the tide. "There you are!" He stumbles to a stop besides them, huffing up at Chikusa. "You looked so weird I couldn't find you!" A prompt shove into Chikusa's lanky frame shows how annoyed Ken is.   
  
Well, it's sort of stupid to blame  _him_  for this change in appearance, and Chikusa promptly frowns. "I'm not the one who got it," he huffs. "Why are you shoving  _me_?"   
  
"Because you're the one wearing it, Kakipii." Sticking his tongue out at Chikusa, Ken turns back to Mukuro like he forgot he existed. "I want a hat too!" When he's laughed at, he puffs up and whines.   
  
With an indulgent ruffle of that wild blond hair, Mukuro points out the obvious. "Wouldn't you just forget to put it on, even if it was raining? Besides-" He ruffles harder, which only serves to make Ken dig his head up into Mukuro's hand all the more. "You couldn't fit it over all your hair anyway."  
  
Instead of arguing like he probably would with Chikusa, Ken just shrugs and grins when Mukuro's hand leaves him. "Yeah, probably," he agrees easily. "So are you gonna stick with us for the rest of shopping?" The conversation dissolves, then, into the usual relaxed chatter that goes on between the three of them, and Mukuro indeed sticks around for once.   
  
Yet.... After that, it keeps happening. Not every day, not every week, but, or the next six months, Chikusa begins to find himself with more hats than he ever has had in his life. That's not saying much, honestly. His parents had given him two hats, the only things which ever seemed to steadily fit him, with one being for summer and the other winter. Both had gotten wrecked years ago, when he'd outgrown them, and Ken had gotten the bright idea to reuse them as patchwork for their bags. Yet Mukuro always does his best to bestow him one, eventually and one way or the other. Soon enough, Chikusa finds himself the proud owner of four different hats, with each one being different than any of the others. There's the plain cap, the very first. It fits the best, and Chikusa likes it the most. A close contender is one that's a least two sizes too big, navy blue gone paler from too much exposure to the sun, and it's the best for hot days where he wants to tug something over his face. Number three is gray and thick, if a little snug, made for winter, and that leaves number four. It's certainly a hat. That's the best that can be said for the thing, made up of patchwork as it is. No same piece of cloth matches in color, material, or pattern. It's hideous. Chikusa loves it.   
  
Even Mukuro can't quite seem to believe how taken Chikusa is with the whole thing. "Ken is going to get jealous at this rate," he says, his cheek resting in one open palm. In front of them, the fireplace has quieted down into embers. It's a warm night, honestly. There's no need to feed the flames. Their blankets are enough, perhaps too much, and the pair of them sit in the emberglow. Ken is sprawled out inbetween both of them, his head against Chikusa's legs and his feet brushing past Mukuro's. Whatever the other boy might say, he seems content enough in his sleep if the snores are any indication. Mukuro's eyes follow the dim shape of Chikusa's fingertips, slowly tracing out each bit of stitching in his ragdoll hat. "He'll start chewing on them to get your attention again."  
  
How silly. Ken has been with him always. If there's anyone who has to worry about the other's attention wandering, well, it's not Ken. Still, Chikusa goes along with the tease. "We'll save up for something sweet to make it up to him," he says quietly, and finally looks up. The moon is bright, tonight. With the water outside reflecting its light, there's enough to see Mukuro sitting near him. Barely enough, but enough regardless. Once was a surprise, second pleasant, and third would have been more than enough. It's the fourth which has him give voice to the question that's been waiting on his tongue. "Why do you keep getting these hats for me?"  
  
In the moonlight, once more, Mukuro looks so ethereal. Lately, or perhaps it's only in Chikusa's eyes, it's become more noticeable, similar to the way Ken glows underneath the summer sun. It's almost funny. Hasn't he known these two boys for ages now? Yet there's so much new to them that he's started to pick up. With Mukuro, there's so much to see. There's so much that feels as though Chikusa is seeing it for the first time. His dark hair, here in the gloom, betrays the way it shifts with color as he tilts his head to the side at Chikusa's question, and he thinks he can see the darkest depths of the sea in the way it moves. "We're alike, don't you think?" he asks, a coy smirk playing upon his mouth.   
  
Ethereal, but still a complete pain. Chikusa's eyebrows lower a bit, hinting at how unimpressed he is even if he's not outright scowling. That's more a Ken kind of expression. "That doesn't answer anything at all..."  
  
Mukuro chuckles, as he so often does. Whether it's annoying or charming, Chikusa still hasn't decided after all this time. "I want a lot of things," he says, confident and at ease in his greediness. "It's why I couldn't stay home. It's the same for you, isn't it?"  
  
...Is it? Chikusa has never thought about it. Perhaps it's the station he once was fortunate to hold as a child, the child of nobility, which has allowed him to be blind to such a question. Clothing, food, and all of that were well, but he never ached for them. Yet the more he thinks about the question Mukuro has posed, the more he realizes that he's hungered for other things. Independence from his father, once upon a time. Knowledge, most certainly. But what he's wanted most of all....   
  
Carefully, he moves one hand from the hat in his lap and lets it curl gently around Ken, as not to wake him. Mukuro hums.   
  
"But," he continues on, resting his hand against the floor and leaning back, "I want to own things that are mine, and mine before anyone else's. Everyone has to have something that's just theirs, right? It can't be passed down. It's why I never would have accepted anything of my mother's, even if she had cared for me." The words end with a proud snort.   
  
"Does it matter?" Chikusa asks quietly, his gaze unable to rest on Mukuro any longer. Instead, it drifts down to the hat in his hand. Even if he's asked that question, Chikusa knows the answer for real inside his chest. He knows it like he knows what Mukuro's response will be, coming from the dark.   
  
"Of course it does. If someone wants to keep something that isn't theirs over something that is, don't you think you should ask why that is?"  
  
Mukuro.... doesn't mention the jewelry box. There's still no denying that its presence seems to weigh quite heavily on Chikusa's shoulders as he sits there, and the question haunts well alongside it. Why does he want to keep it so much? His thumbnail worries a little bit at a stitch that sticks out too thickly. Is his inheritance really so important? What does he think will happen with it? Suddenly, he viciously wants Mukuro just  _tell him what to do about it_. Keep it, give it away, some sort of direct order.... Anything so long as it's that. Thinking about it too heavily is so frustrating, and he's sick that his parents' ghosts can still haunt him for this long.   
  
No answer or order comes from Mukuro. Instead, there's a  _thmp_ , and Chikusa looks over to find the other boy having flopped back into his portion of the blanket pile. Moonlight stretches across pale skin, highlighting how his dark lashes curve along his cheeks. "Are you going to sleep there?" he asks, blinking. They rarely sleep in the bedroom, even as most people haven't dared to venture into the Flooded District anymore with how empty it is. Even beggars and other such homeless types stick to the dryer parts of what was once Rudshore, although Chikusa thinks he's overheard chatter in town proper that has talked about starting to rebuild. Old habits are hard to break.   
  
A smile flickers across Mukuro's face, and he doesn't open his eyes. "It's a little too warm a night to go to sleep up in the attic, right?"  
  
"I suppose." Chikusa doesn't lay down as well. Instead, he stays sitting where he is, watching Ken's breathing and how, in time, Mukuro's own chest slows down to match it. When he's certain that both of them are well and truly asleep, he begins to move. Getting Ken's head off of him requires a truly delicate touch. Out of all of them, Ken is the lightest sleeper. More than once in the past has he jolted upright, and Chikusa has awoken to find his best friend prowling about with the declaration that he thought someone had broken into the home when it was only the wind. So he's slow, and careful, and it takes a long time until he can finally settle Ken's head against the rest of the blankets. Fortunately, sneaking away is at least Chikusa's forte. It has been ever since he was a child for more trivial things, and he's learned to be even quieter now that he's a little older. Neither of his friends wake up as he sneaks over to the ladder that's stayed down. It sighs and creaks a little under his weight, as it does, but neither shape has moved when he glances back down from the very top.   
  
Good.   
  
It's been a while since he's looked at his mother's jewelry box, he realizes when he pulls it out. The pearls have kept them fed enough, and Mukuro hasn't mentioned in quite some time about using the box to pay for whatever they need. A bit of dust has gathered across the fine lid, and it creaks when Chikusa opens it. Everything is exactly how he left it, months ago when he last looked through everything. The necklaces are all lined up. The rings and earrings are cluttered together in their respective spaces, wood seen past the space that is inbetween them.   
  
There are indeed brooches. Many of them. Lovely cameo type things are lined up here and there, of women whose names Chikusa does not know and doubts he will ever know. A couple of them have miniature pictures, framed in metal, painted with the utmost care and detail. Plenty of others are finer things, shining with jewels and gems. He picks them up, looking hard down at them as if they can give him any answer. Yet metal and precious stones tell him nothing, no lungs or mouths to bestow upon him any knowledge. They only lay there, valuable but worthless against his touch.   
  
Eventually, Chikusa puts them back, a hollowness in his chest and a hat flopping against his head. All he  _can_  do is put them back. With the whale oil lamp snuffed out, he slips back down the ladder where Mukuro and Ken await in their sleep. When he lays down with them, Ken inbetween him and Mukuro, the blond wiggles back into him. Chikusa lets out a breath.... and goes to sleep.   
  
M.M. alerts them to a corpse a week later.   
  
It's clear from the second that the Golden Cat's backdoor comes into view that things are different this early morning. Unlike all the other times they've ever paid a visit, M.M. is already there for once. The door is cracked open, her hands visible on the doorknob, and Chikusa can see for only a moment that she's looking back into the hall before her head snaps back at the sound of their combined footsteps. " _Finally_!" she hisses, jittery with energy as she swings the door open wider. "Come on, come on!"   
  
Mukuro's eyes light up, and he follows her hurrying gesture to duck in past her. "Someone died?" he asks, voice low and excited. Ken is right behind him, eyes alight with fascination and his hand tugging Chikusa in so that he's not left behind. The second all of them are inside the Golden Cat, M.M. closes the door behind them with her tongue sticking out. It doesn't escape Chikusa's notice that she's careful not to let her movementd be too noisy.   
  
"No, I invited you in for tea!" she snaps quietly, shoving past Mukuro so that she's leading the group. "Follow me, and don't make any noise, okay? There are still clients around, and the Madam is trying to keep this quiet!" She doesn't explain why, but it doesn't need to be. They've already gone over how no business wants to be associated with a murder. That goes double for a business like the Golden Cat, considering its rather less than moral activities that it sells. So even Mukuro keeps his mouth shut, not protesting that M.M. is in charge, and keeps his step quiet. How fortunate that, due to their own various immoral activities, all three of them are good at that.   
  
The Golden Cat is different at night, or, rather, early morning before the sun has even risen. The lights which illuminate it give it an even more red glow, and it's utterly strange to Chikusa. Chatter buzzes from the higher floors, heard even down on the ground where they are. There are other noises, too, of course. They're harder to hear, in the part of the Cat meant for housing, but they get clearer the further along all of them go. From the plain dull walls of the rooms where the women sleep, to the redder parts of the building, and.... Oh. As M.M. guides them along the stairway, pausing every some steps to keep an ear out for anyone coming down the stairs, he starts to realize what some of those noises are. A heat begins to rise along Chikusa's cheeks, ever so faintly. Ahead of him, he can't quite see Ken's face, but he can see the back of his neck and ears. Even as Chikusa watches, they burn pure scarlet.   
  
There's no such reactions from M.M. and Mukuro, so far as Chikusa can see from his position in the very back. Their self-claimed leader is too busy buzzing with excitement, glancing back at them occasionally with eyes that shine and a razor sharp smile. M.M. is all utter focus in contrast. She freezes at portions of the stairs, her ears almost visible as she strains to hear if anyone is coming near, and continues the same action all the way through the curving halls and little rooms they duck through. Most of the rooms seem to be.... occupied, with only the occasional woman and sometimes her customer hanging about in the comfortable couches that litter the building. When they pass through one room that seems to lead to an entirely different section of the Golden Cat, Chikusa catches the faintest sounds of what sounds like the Prince of Tyvia being recited and echoing. They don't linger long enough for him to get any more of an idea than that.   
  
When M.M. finally comes to a stop that's more than a pause, it's before a closed door. There's no marble, like with the door they first met her at months ago, yet there's no denying the richness of the wood. Perhaps it's only Chikusa who can tell such a thing. Regardless, M.M. digs through her dress and pulls out a particular key to undo it. There are too many people around, even at this hour. When she hurries them in, it's even more demanding than when she'd gotten them into the building in the first place. Just like then, it's Mukuro, Ken, and Chikusa, with M.M. shutting the door firmly behind them.   
  
Destination reached, Chikusa takes a breath and nearly chokes on the amount of incense that fills the room. With the rush they've all been in, he hasn't had the time to really take in everything as he did before. Right now, he knows there's only a few scant moments to do even that much right now, so he squeezes the pause for all its worth. As with just about every single part of the building that they've been in, at least those meant for the paying public, it's completely curved around. Maybe that sort of energy is what helps the incense fill up the room so much- a thick scent that speaks of spices and flowers. Distantly, he recalls that his mother used to instruct the servants to do the same thing.... only in more moderation.   
  
The scent certainly fits the room, at least. A large vanity, almost obnoxious in the length of it and the mirror that is propped on top, dominates one part of the room. Chikusa has only a glance to take everything in, and he can't name a good handful of the things which are displayed upon its surface. Some are perfumes, others seem to be oils, and then there are tools he can't begin to name. Frankly, he's not sure he wants to. Across from it is the main piece of the room: an enormous bed underneath a (probably) expensive painting with dozens of pillows strewn across it.   
  
A lump is hidden beneath the sheets.   
  
Mukuro is already hurrying over to it, ignoring M.M.'s hiss of "Hurry up! They wanted to grab the corpse and hide it before the sun comes up! We don't have a lot of time before some gang member or other gets here!"   
  
"You worry too much," Mukuro says dismissively and, with a wide sweeping jerk of his hand, tugs away the sheet.   
  
The man- the corpse- underneath has gone utterly cold. Chikusa can tell even at a distance, and it only becomes all the more apparent as he steps closer with his fingers still curled along Ken's. His skin has gone pallid, veins far too apparent beneath the surface, and wide bloodshot eyes are stuck staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. Around his throat rope marks stick out vividly, as if even the individual strands could show in the imprint if one only looked close enough.   
  
" _Awesome_ ," Ken says, voice soft with awe.   
  
"It won't be if we get caught- wait!" In a flash, faster than Chikusa would ever have assumed from her, M.M. is at their side and getting right into Mukuro's face. "Payment up front! Or I'll start screaming, and that'll draw the whole place down on you."   
  
Backed up against a bed with a corpse on it, Mukuro's lips thin and he narrows his eyes at her. "You wouldn't bother to try. I doubt screaming is an uncommon sound around here."   
  
Her eyes flash. "It is if it's a young girl screaming and not someone older."   
  
Mukuro huffs but he doesn't argue. "You're such a nuisance, you know. More than six months with not even a little lead, and-"  
  
Pressing in with his hand fishing through his pocket, Chikusa takes one of M.M's hands and shoves a brooch in it. She starts, her other hand half curled into a fist, before she realizes what's just happened. Blinking, she unfolds her fingers and stares down into what has been given to her. It's a thin delicate thing, a bird on some sort of meaningless curling symbol that's more for art than meaning, and pearls line every bit of it that can be lined. Many of them are delicately minuscule, yet still glow with that characteristic white. The only odd parts out are the small bright red jewel which makes up the bird's eye and a larger one in the cluster of pearls.   
  
"Oh," she says, flabbergasted, before a wide pleased smile sweeps across her face. " _Oh_." Closing her hand around the brooch once again, she tosses her head back and leans against him to stare at Mukuro. "It's good to know which of you is the one with  _real_  money around here. Or at least one who remembers to pay up. No one likes a poor person, Mukuro."   
  
Rolling his eyes, Mukuro puts a hand on his hip. "You're hardly anyone of note either." While M.M. bristles at him, Chikusa can't help noting how the other boy's shoulders have lost some of their tension. Still, she's right-   
  
"We have to hurry," he reminds both of them quietly.   
  
As if some sort of rule has been broken and given him the all clear, Ken bursts out with, "I want to tear it out!" Perhaps if they were normal little boys, that sort of sentence would never come from Ken's mouth. Then again, it's Ken. He's always had a delight for the revolting and gory. At least, he's never been too afraid of it, or shied away. With their lives as they are and the sort of things they've had to do, perhaps that's for the best.   
  
Laughing softly, Mukuro adjusts himself so that there's a little more room at his side. Instead of drawing over Ken, however, he gestures for Chikusa. "Ken, you'll be a little too rough. Let's get it out, first, and then you can clean it." What it means for Chikusa to be brought forth has him want to stop breathing for a second. Fortunately, Mukuro continues. "Chikusa, you have a steady hand. Can you hold his eyes wide open for me?"  
  
Well. That's a little better.   
  
After that, things become... a little distant to Chikusa's recollection. He knows he presses his finger over and under the eye, stretching the lids wide. In an academic sort of sense, he knows that Mukuro draws out a knife and a spoon, and does.... something. Somehow he knows that Ken was called upon to handle the knife, although the details elude him. M.M. also does something, and he can't remember what. All he knows is that one moment he's besides Mukuro and the next the three of them are being shoved out into the street once more by the redheaded girl.   
  
"And don't come around for a while!" is the last thing he hears from behind him before the door clicks shut.   
  
Ken is digging his fingers, his nails, right into the back of Chikusa's knuckles, and the weight of his stare is one of the first things that become clear to Chikusa's eyes. At that same moment, Ken eases up with his brows drawing apart from each other where they'd otherwise been scrunched up in worry.   
  
There's no time to talk. In the distance, gruff voices reach Chikusa's hearing, and Mukuro whispers, "This way!" The Bottle Street gang is near, exactly as M.M. had said, and one can only wonder what they would do with a small gang of boys wandering the streets at such odd hours. Mukuro is ducked into a tight alley, different than the one they often use to get through to the Golden Cat, and Chikusa doesn't have to think twice. Instead, pulling forward as if that will help pull him away from his own strange foggy state of mind, Chikusa follows and pulls Ken along with him instead of the other way around. This alley isn't one he's as familiar with as their usual routes. Normally, he'd ask Ken, who knows them best, or Mukuro, but they're barely in time as it is. As they're near halfway through the alley, light shines through the hole of a street and Chikusa feels suddenly sick.   
  
He doesn't have to worry. When he glances over his shoulder and over Ken's mess of hair, no one is peering into the alley. The light is only residue as the men, typical of Slackjaw's lot, pass by on the way to the very same door that the three of them have just left. Their voices echo down the alley of the early hours, how attractive the women are, if they'll be paid money or favors. It's all a jumble, and Chikusa can only hear that much before Ken nudges him sharply in the side to keep moving.   
  
Right as they squeeze out from the alley, at the very second the last of Ken's hair is out of it, a scream suddenly rises sharply above the roofs of the city. Chikusa jolts, his heart smashing into his chest, but Mukuro can only spare an annoyed sigh. "That must be the distraction she mentioned," he mutters. What distraction? Chikusa suddenly realizes he's missed a lot in the time he's been 'absent' from his own head and body. He wishes he could ask. Mukuro gives him no opportunity to, hurrying down the street. In his hand, Chikusa realizes suddenly, a small rag is held tightly like a pouch. "Alright, this way. The City Watch will be all around here soon, and I bet the Overseers will be nosy enough to start poking around too if they can." With no other choice, Chikusa and Ken follow after him. Their usual shortcuts aren't viable, at least so close to where the scream originated. They need something new.  
  
As they three of them hurry through the night, ducking into shadows and corners, lights begin to flicker into life from the buildings they pass. Voices murmur out from their windows; the scream has woken people up. This means even more hiding, more running, and everything blurs together save for Mukuro's body ahead of them and Ken's hand in Chikusa's. Soon, they're scrambling upwards, over a fence, and Chikusa grunts as his tumbling feet crash into the ground. There's not a lot of space in a city like Dunwall, at least for the places which the poor live in or the lavish rich who take up entire apartment complexes. Not many have gardens. The yard they're in is around as tiny, maybe as big as a small room itself with weeds stretching their leaves up towards the sky. Taking up a good chunk of the yard is a pair of sheds. Mukuro makes a beeline for one, not caring which. Both are equally locked tight, it seems, with a chain at both doors. As he hastily gets to work on the lock, swearing quietly under his breath, Chikusa glances up towards the building which owns the little space. All the windows are dark, but that doesn't mean anything. "What are you doing?" Ken hisses, hovering nervously over Mukuro's shoulder. He still holds Chikusa's hand.   
  
"We need a place to hide," Mukuro whispers back, harried and aggravated. The lock is giving him trouble. "We can't break into a building, a real one, so this is the best option! At least until things quiet down again." The seconds drag by, slow and torturous, until at long last the lock lets out a quiet noise of surrender. Heaving out a sigh of relief, Mukuro tugs it open and ushers all of them inside. No light follows them inside, even before Mukuro closes the door. Immediately after, there's a thump and he hisses. "Stupid stuff all along the floor...."  
  
There  _is_  a lot apparently stuffed into the little shed. Chikusa can feel it too, catching at the edge of his pants and where he bumps the side of his feet into them. Crouching down, he finally lets go of Ken's hand to feel about. "It's.... a lamp, I think. Let me see if it has anything in it..." Carefully guiding his fingers, he forms a mental image of the object he's touching until he bumps into the knob to light it up.   
  
A purple glow fills up the room.   
  
Years have passed since they last saw this shade of purple, and yet the connotations associated with it have never left. A sense of breathlessness passes between all three of them. The shed is by no means as fancy as the room underneath the apartment building that they first saw years ago. There's not enough room, for one thing. Still, there's no denying the symbols that can be found carved into the walls, or the small shelf which holds its forbidden ruin. No bonecharms, no purple cloth. Still. They know where they are.   
  
Gesturing for Chikusa to lower the lamp's brightness, Mukuro grins wide. "Good luck eye," he says quietly, and Ken smacks his hands over his mouth to stifle his laughter. "We'll have to remember this place for later, if Granny continues to give us nothing to go on." Glancing back to the door, he thinks for a moment. "Let's sit down. We might be here for a while."   
  
With all three of them crammed into the little shed together, there's barely any room for them to sit down. Chikusa has to draw his legs up nearly halfway so that they aren't forced against the opposing wall, although that only means Mukuro sprawls his own atop Chikusa's feet. Ken is by far the most comfortable, able to curl along the ground as well as any beast. "Don't fall asleep now," Mukuro reminds him.   
  
"I won't," Ken says stubbornly. Some five minutes later, a snore rumbles out from him. Across the shed, Chikusa and Mukuro exchange a glance but neither of them bother to wake the blond. Mukuro gives voice to an excuse a moment later.  
  
"We've had an exciting morning," he says, "I suppose a small nap before sunrise will be fine enough." Faintly, Chikusa wonders if that's an excuse. Still, there's no complaints from him. All he does is nod, and tuck his chin down against his chest. Between legs and chest, he scrunches up his hands to make himself as small as possible. There's no reason for it, really. Simply comfort. Soon the frantic beating of his heart eases, his mind settles... and Chikusa drifts off to sleep.   
  
  
  
  
  
Rudshore is drowning again.   
  
Far beneath him, the water is rising, and Chikusa's back cannot press any tighter into the stone wall which is behind him. Under his feet is a ledge barely wide enough to give him any hope. There's no rain, he thinks, although distantly he is aware of how the sky is a bloated gray. He is in no danger of the ledges being slick. Still, he stares deep down into the water that, for the time being, is still far below him. Two floors high, he thinks, and with no signs of stopping. As he watches, something churns through the void-dark water. Bigger than hagfish. Bigger than people. Bigger than anything he has ever seen before, and well at home in depths he cannot fathom.   
  
He has no choice. Chikusa begin to move.   
  
All he can do is edge sideways against the wall, stone grinding at his back and his bare toes curling over the edge of his narrow walkway. Occasionally, he comes across a window, and most of them are closed with his fingertips only meeting smooth glass damp with condensation. He's particularly careful around them, wary of slipping and relying on their frames to get him past. Even more than the closed windows, however, he's careful when he comes upon an open one. None of them show any light shining from within. No meager light from the sky pierces through. It is only a window, a ledge inside showing, and darkness past that. At least, so he thinks. He never dares to actually look inside.   
  
Chikusa keeps going. And going. and going.   
  
He's not sure how long he goes. There's one foot sliding forward, the other sliding to join it, repetition that would be boringly mundane if not for the water threatening to rise up to claim all it can reach. Another floor is swallowed up, and something from within the water keens so deeply that it vibrates throughout the stone and up Chikusa's bones. It will reach him soon.   
  
There's another window, and someone is leaning out of it. Chikusa stops.   
  
His eyes don't dare tear themselves wholly away from the sight of the water, so he can only tell a little bit of the individual who is now next to him. They are dark and pale, and it seems as though their arms might be crossed against the window pane as their head and shoulders stick out. Surely, they must notice him, and yet they say nothing. Chikusa says nothing either. The two of them stay there, wordless, silent, and the water rises ever higher.   
  
Much like his journey, Chikusa isn't entirely sure how long he stands there with the stranger as they both stare down at the water. Yet soon the water is less than a yard beneath him, and Chikusa lets out a shuddering breath that rattles the air. His fingers edge towards the window frame next to him, finding grip, and he purposefully directs his gaze skywards as to not look at the stranger. This, too, is barely thick enough he thinks, and Chikusa grunts as he draws his legs up. It's hard, getting up to such a precarious spot without smashing his legs into the stranger's head, but he manages. Up ahead, as he pulls himself higher, he spots another ledge. If he tries, uses all his height, he thinks...   
  
Below him, the stranger exhales in a way that almost implies a laugh.   
  
Chikusa keeps climbing. As his hand digs into the next ledge, he realizes that the sky and air are filled with shattered pieces of-   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ken smashes into them, and Chikusa wakes up.   
  
Around him, the world churns uneasily. Thick gray clouds shift and twist, intermingling with purple-tinted wooden walls. Without thinking, his body jerks for balance and stability as though he still might be precariously close to tumbling over deep into water. His heart beats in his throat, his lungs stop working, and then he blinks reality back into existence. There are no floodwaters rising up to try and steal him. His feet are on solid ground. Him, and Ken, and Mukuro are all still in the same shed that they dozed off into. All he has to worry about is Ken's knee digging into his ribs.   
  
"I saw him!" Ken hisses, the faint purple light from the lamp making his normally warm brown eyes seem strange. They shine too bright, too dark. He's not upset, Chikusa doesn't think, for all that his brows are drawn tight together. Instead, he's merely agitated. Chikusa has seen that kind of look before, although not so intense with emotion, when he's tried to explain some of the words in a book to him. The look on Ken's face now is the same kind as then, when something is far too complex and he's not sure how to parse it but too proud to admit it. Usually, in the face of such times, Ken is quick to dismiss whatever it is. Instead, with this, he says, "Mukuro, did you hear me? I think I saw him, the Outsider!"   
  
Chikusa's brain stutters at the news. For a moment, he wants to say that Ken is just waking from a dream, that it had to be a dream. Yet when he looks across to Mukuro to say as much, the words freeze on his tongue. The other boy barely seems to have noticed that Ken has crashed into both of them. Instead, his eyes are alight with that same burning eagerness as when M.M. confirmed that she had a body for them, and he's looking down into his lap. Even more than Ken, the light shines on him strangely with shadows distorting his face, and his mismatched gaze flicks up at them. "I know," he says quietly, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. "I saw him too." And with that, he raises his left hand. There, etched on it with something that  _feels_  deeper than ink with only a look, is the same symbol that he showed them on a dirty floor when they were still relative strangers to one another. It's the same symbol etched into the runes they've seen.   
  
Ecstatic, Ken almost shouts before slamming his teeth together, and he shoves his hand out too- also the left. "Just like mine! He said it was a gift, and then it showed up, and it hurt only a little bit!" Grinning with all of his teeth, Ken turns towards Chikusa. "He came to see us, Kakipii! He finally did!" When no answer comes, his grin dims a little bit, and he squints over at him. "Kakipii, did you hear me?"  
  
He did. But he doesn't answer. Chikusa is too busy staring down at his hands, a slow cold feeling crawling up his heart. Finally, when it's no longer in his throat, he speaks up softly. "I don't have it."  
  
"What?" Ken asks, gaze wide and uncomprehending. Across the shed, Mukuro straightens up and a faint frown appears on his mouth.   
  
"I don't have it," Chikusa repeats, still quiet. "The mark- I don't have it like you two have." He turns his hands over, as if it might show on a wrist or a palm, but no- both are as blank as the top of his hands had been, all bone and pale taut skin and veins.   
  
He has nothing.


End file.
